


goddess wills, stars shine

by sonnelullaby



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 129
Words: 113,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnelullaby/pseuds/sonnelullaby
Summary: aincest drabbles. mostly fluff, some au. pairings listed at the top, if applicable.





	1. 14; arme / erblu

**Author's Note:**

> 14; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu feels cuddly. Arme deals.

when the door opens, Arme ignores it. he can distinguish the El signature the presence is radiating and has no intention of responding to it. in the restful silence, he continues to cycle the goddess’s energy around his low-powered celestial form, allowing time to slowly restore his divine power.

the door clicks shut, and a few moments later, opens again. shuts. opens. the presence returns and moves throughout the room, until finally it rests on the bed, still and silent. after a few minutes, Arme opens his eyes slightly to see just Erblu nestled in a mountain of blankets, hugging a pillow to his chest. his gentle green eyes are smiling at him and Arme furrows his brow.

“this could be you,” Erblu says, holding the pillow tightly and rolling, smile widening ever so slightly now that he knows he has the other celestial’s attention. he wiggles deeper in his cocoon of blankets and lets out a happy sigh for effect. “you could be so comfy. with me, here.”

Arme only narrows his eyes and looks away.

“Arme.” Arme glances at him and there’s a playful lilt in Erblu’s smile. “come here.”

Arme rolls his eyes at the waggle in the other’s brow, but stands up from the chair anyway. when he walks toward the side of the bed, Erblu sits up, reaches up to touch his head, and threads his fingers through Arme’s soft white hair. but his other hand grasps his arm and pulls him onto the bed. before Arme can retreat, Erblu has entangled himself around him, moving to pile the blankets over him. celestials can feel neither cold nor heat, so Arme reaches out to hold Erblu’s coat for some tactile feeling as his alternate rearranges the pillows.

“isn’t that better now?” Erblu asks, not expecting an answer, and Arme doesn’t give one to him. Erblu smiles at him happily, locking his hands behind Arme’s back. “now you are properly resting, Arme.”

celestials do not need to lie down to rest. and celestials most definitely do not need to be warm to recover. but the hum of Erblu’s Eid magic surrounds him with promise, with security, and Arme unconsciously shifts deeper into his comforting embrace.

celestials do not sleep either, but this is the closest Arme has ever gotten to it in this form.

Erblu nudges, gently rousing him. “do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

before he can stop himself, Arme projects an echoing “ _no_ ,” stiffening when he hears his voice echo off the walls. Erblu only laughs and holds him closer.


	2. 15; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> it’s a chilly winter day and Arme is understandably cold. Erblu is not.

Arme waits under the barren tree, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat. he’s glancing at the snow resting atop the stark branches, his eyes far off and absent, until the chilly wind nipping at the tip of his nose is too much to ignore. he raises the soft green scarf to cover the lower half of his face and closes his eyes to the cold.

“Arme!”

and a warm hand jabs itself in his pocket, jostling him from his daze. Arme opens his eyes to see the innocent grin adorning Erblu’s face. the other celestial is rocking in his boots, his light blue scarf hanging haphazardly around his neck, gazing at him with sparkling eyes. it takes Arme a moment to realize Erblu is waiting for him to say something.

“you…” and Arme grasps at the hand in his pocket for a few moments, before pulling their hands out. “why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“I don’t need gloves, Arme. I radiate heat,” Erblu says without skipping a beat. Arme frowns and squeezes his warm hand inquisitively. Erblu squeezes back, before leaning in and poking his nose into Arme’s scarf, a slyness in his smile. “you’re wearing it.”

“and what of it?” Arme asks, self-consciously pulling the scarf to cover up his nose again. “it’s fulfilling its purpose: preventing my face from freezing off.”

Erblu only grins, doesn’t push it, and twines his fingers with Arme’s, expression glowing. Arme quirks a brow at him and places their clasped hands back into his coat pocket. he can feel Erblu’s warmth through his glove, feels the energy seep through to his core. warm, gentle, blooming, soothing.

“Arme?” Erblu tugs at his hand curiously and Arme gives him a blank blink. “are you _blushing_?”

“no,” Arme says curtly. he reaches up to hide his heated face behind his scarf, his breaths coming out in short, white puffs. “it’s a natural human response. humans are fragile creatures susceptible to the smallest changes in the environment. your scarf is doing a terrible job at keeping my face warm. Erblu, stop smiling.”

“I can’t. it’s cute.” Erblu laughs, latches onto his arm with his whole body. “you know, Arme, smiling is how humans express happiness. you should try it sometimes.”

Arme frowns instead, but he doesn’t pull away. he only grasps Erblu’s hand even more firmly and Erblu sparkles happily, an uncharacteristic softness in his expression. Arme glances up at the tree again, watches as the snow melt into glistening water.

somehow, it’s not as cold anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _in the cold winter, when you look at the snow falling down the tree, the cold disappears..._


	3. 16; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu and Arme people watch. or really, only Erblu is.

“this would be the perfect time,” Erblu mumbles, eyes focused on the couch in front of the inn’s fireplace. he’s propped his head against his hand, leaning against the countertop, observing as the human male takes the woman’s hands in his own reverently. “do you think he’ll kiss her on her hand or on her cheek, Arme?”

“hm?” Arme isn’t paying attention, fixed on his glass of iced desert soda. he glances at the couple Erblu is looking at. “what?”

“oh!” Erblu says with hushed excitement. the man is leaning in and the woman is smiling shyly. “is he aiming for her lips?”

they kiss and Erblu claps softly to cheer. Arme looks back to his drink with disinterest when their kiss intensifies into something less chaste. Erblu doesn’t stop watching, a smile curling on his lips. “isn’t it fascinating, Arme?”

Arme simply sips at his drink, nowhere near as engaged as Erblu is with the humans’ activities. “I don’t understand the point of it.”

“kissing? it’s the proof of love, Arme,” Erblu says, spinning in his stool to face Arme, and holds up his fingers in a shape of a heart. “I thought you’d know about that at least.”

“I’m aware. but what’s the point of _that_?” Arme glances toward the fireplace and back, unimpressed. “it seems unnecessary.”

Erblu drops his hands and shrugs. “I don’t know. they like the taste of another human? they have the urge? Elsword never really gave me a straight answer for that.”

Arme only swirls his drink in his hand, when Erblu places his hand over his and takes it from him. Arme’s hand fall to his side loosely and Erblu takes a quick sip, watching the other celestial curiously, before a slyness overtakes his face.

“do you want to try it, Arme?” Erblu winks, placing the glass down onto the counter with a resounding clack. he places a finger on his lips, coy. “that sort of kiss.”

Arme wrinkles his brow in distaste. “no. it seems disgusting.”

“Arme, ever the killjoy.”

but Erblu reaches for his hand anyway and presses Arme’s palm against his cheek. he pinches his face at the cool sensation and pouts. “your hands are always so cold, Arme.”

“I was _just_ holding a cold drink.”

Erblu ignores his protest, sparkling playfully. “I think you need more love.”

“what I have is...” Arme shrugs. “it’s more than enough, Erblu.”

Erblu pauses, blinking slowly in realization. the fingers pressed against his cheek curl up shyly and his expression softens. Erblu leans into Arme’s hesitating touch, closing his eyes with a contented hum.

“your face is warm,” Arme says suddenly. “are you sick?”

Erblu can’t help but laugh when Arme flips his hand over to press the back of his fingers against his cheek instead. Erblu catches his fingers, presses his lips against them gently, and smiles.

“sick with love, maybe.”

“what?” Arme frowns, clearly confused, but he doesn’t pull away.

“human emotions are strange, Arme,” Erblu says absently, not explaining anything at all, and tangles their fingers together. “but I’m glad to have them.”


	4. 17; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> after a long battle with demons, Arme needs some comfort. Erblu kindly obliges.

one night, Arme returns covered with demonic blood, his white coat stained with black ash, his teal hair flecked with cinders. Erblu tries to smile, but the stench is overwhelming. “it… looks like you just annihilated all the demons in Elrios, Arme.”

Arme doesn’t respond. can’t. he’s holding a crystal sword in his hand, and his eyes, divine blue, are still hollowly channeling the power of the goddess. Erblu takes him by the shoulders and he can feel Arme tremble.

“Arme?” Erblu brushes a few strands of teal hair from his eyes, but Arme gazes blankly instead at his curled hands.

so Erblu pinches the lapels of his coat, tries to work it off of the celestial’s stiff body. Erblu tugs at his sleeve gently, before Arme finally allows the crystal projection in his hand to disintegrate into light. when Erblu removes his coat and pulls away to set it down, Arme catches Erblu’s wrist.

“Arme?”

Arme doesn’t look up and Erblu understands. carefully, Erblu takes his hand and leads him toward the wooden wash basin at the corner of his room. Erblu touches the still water, allows his Eid magic spread its healing warmth, before dipping their hands into the basin. eventually Arme lets go of him, feeling the kind magic course over his skin.

“I know it’s not the same as the goddess’s blessing but…” Erblu says with a hesitating smile. “this should make you feel a little better.”

Arme flexes his fingers in the water, before slipping both hands into the basin and splashing his face, lets the droplets slowly roll down his chin. then he exhales, picks up the basin, and pours it over his head. Erblu yelps, taking a step back, as the water drenches the table and floor. the wooden basin clacks loudly back onto the table, Arme gripping the sides of it tightly.

“Arme, if you wanted to do that, we should have gone to the baths,” Erblu laughs, pulling a dry towel off the nearby stool. Arme only stares into space, minutely shaking as water traces down his body. Erblu throws the towel over Arme’s dripping hair and ruffles it dry, a fond smile on his face. “I wonder what you did before I met you, Arme.”

Arme doesn’t answer, so Erblu pulls the towel flatly against Arme’s head and peers gently into the celestial’s blank eyes. “if you became like this every time you fought demons, what did you do?”

Arme holds his gaze for a moment, before looking down at his hands.

“I let the goddess’s power cleanse me,” Arme says simply. “until I could tolerate my human body again.”

“ah.” and Erblu rests his forehead against Arme’s, nudging, “then why didn’t you do that this time? you wouldn’t had to wait until you got back.”

Arme looks up and says, “because you’re here.”

Erblu blinks, surprised.

then, to elaborate, Arme adds, “I prefer your warmth.”

and Erblu throws his arms around him, buries his face into his wet shoulder. Arme’s entire body is soaked and it seeps into Erblu’s clothes, but the Eid sparkles happily around them and Erblu doesn’t care. “Erblu?”

Erblu pulls away to smile gently at Arme. “come, Arme. we should get you properly washed up. I’m sure you don’t want to smell like demon all night.”


	5. 18; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> there’s one emotion Erblu doesn’t like to feel.

“this is unusual,” Arme says, as he closes the door. “you’re not in your human form.”

Erblu looks up at him from where he’s perched on the chair, his wings aglow, its crystal petals of light fluttering behind him. he glances away, green diamond eyes blank. Arme approaches him and sits himself on the bed close to him.

Erblu’s celestial form is very different from his. it radiates the warmth of Eid magic, rather than the cool aura of divine power, and takes on a more earthly hue, a soft, humming green. the glyph over his left eye, the same glyph Arme had purged long ago, pulses a strange otherworldly magic, crackles painfully over his pale white skin. his aura, typically erratic with energy and excitement, reads only turbulence.

“did something happen?” Arme asks. Erblu only curls his fingers against his temple, doesn’t answer. there’s a solemnity in his expression Arme normally doesn’t associate with the cheery celestial, so Arme reaches out, takes Erblu’s hand gently in both of his.

“you’re not hurt,” Arme assesses, as he turns his hand gently over, matter-of-fact. “and you have enough energy to sustain your wings.”

Erblu tucks his fingers into Arme’s hand, but makes no movement otherwise.

“you love being human,” Arme says with a touch of concern, recalling Erblu’s own words. “so why are you like this?”

Arme looks up at him and Erblu’s expression is indecipherable. finally, Erblu stands, kneels on the bed in front of Arme, and plants his face into his shoulder, his arms hanging limply at his side. Arme moves to hold him, carefully avoiding Erblu’s crystal wings, and strokes his back, the same way Erblu does often with him.

eventually, Erblu’s celestial mantle fades, his light green hair returning into his human gray. his wings fold, disappear into the ether, and Erblu lets himself fall into Arme’s embrace.

Arme blinks when he feels Erblu shake. Erblu wraps his arms around his neck, curling his body into a ball on Arme’s lap.

“Erblu, are you crying?”

and Erblu laughs, but it rings hollow. “me, a celestial, crying? please, Arme, I don’t cry.”

“but you can. and you are,” Arme asserts and tries to push Erblu away, but Erblu only holds onto him all the more tightly. “even as a celestial, you still have a human form. and your human form can express a wider range of emotions than mine can.”

“but I don’t _cry_ , Arme,” Erblu mumbles into his shoulder. “crying is a useless and unproductive human reaction and makes you feel awful.”

Arme frowns, unconvinced. “that’s what I think about all human emotions, but for some reason, you enjoy having them anyway.”

“because most emotions make you feel _happy_ ,” Erblu says, clenching Arme’s coat. “this… doesn’t.”

Arme cards his fingers through Erblu’s hair in a hopefully calming way. he doesn’t understand, doesn’t ever hope to. “what can I do then?”

“stay like this, Arme,” Erblu says, voice trembling. “could you?”

Arme wraps his arms around Erblu. “for how long?”

it takes a moment for Erblu to answer, hesitant. “for… ever?”

“my legs will go numb, Erblu.”

and Erblu finally laughs, true. and then he cries, his emotions, raw and incoherent, tearing him open, tearing him apart. and all Arme can do is close his eyes and hold Erblu in his presence. for however long Erblu needs him.  



	6. 19; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu cooks, because he enjoys mealtime. Arme doesn’t cook, because he doesn’t need to eat. neither of them need to eat.

the moment Arme walks through the door, Erblu pushes him to the kitchen and sits him at the dinner table.

“look, I made dinner!” Arme does not mention that it is well past what humans consider the proper time for “dinner.” “Rena gave me a recipe so I decided to try it out.”

Arme glances at the bowl in front of him, containing cooked vegetables. he’s seen these before, in dishes the inns serve and whenever Erblu offers him some “leftovers” from his dinner with the rest of his El Search Party. he’s never eaten them and doesn’t intend to start now.

“I am a celestial,” Arme says slowly. “celestials do not need to eat.”

“yes.” Erblu sparkles.

Arme stands from the chair. “good, I’m glad we had this conversation.”

“no, Arme, you should at least try it,” Erblu whines, pushing him back into the chair. Arme relents and looks at the tray again. Erblu plops himself in the chair next to him, propping his head against his hand.

Erblu is too excited. “so?”

“it… seems edible?” Arme doesn’t know, since he has never really eaten before, except the one time Elsword had valiantly tried to feed him some… mystery meat because he was concerned about his lethargy. Arme picks up the fork, spins it in his hand, before it naturally lands in his sword grip. Erblu adjusts his grip helpfully, smiling kindly.

“now just stab it.”

“I really don’t need to eat, Erblu,” Arme points out, but follows Erblu’s instructions anyway, wincing slightly as the metal collides too hard with the porcelain bowl. “and you don’t either, Erblu.”

“are we not allowed to enjoy simple human pleasures?”

“humans consume food to replenish their El. we can absorb El directly. we don’t _need_ to eat.”

“just _try_ it, Arme.” Erblu lowers his head so that he is eye-level with the tray and pokes the bowl toward him with a shy finger.

it looks fine, not unappetizing. Arme just has no appetite. but there’s no harm in entertaining Erblu for a little while. Arme takes a bite, mulls over it.

“how does it taste?”

Erblu looks far too happy to disappoint, so Arme furrows his brow. “… leafy?” Erblu noticeably droops and Arme frowns. “what did you expect, Erblu?”

“honestly? no idea,” Erblu mutters, placing his face against the cool tabletop.

Arme impales a few more greens with the fork. “have you tried it?”

Erblu doesn’t look him in the eye. “no.”

Arme sighs. to his credit, Erblu didn’t burn it to a crisp, though taste is something he can’t evaluate. the plants of Ruben are filled with extraordinary amounts of El, so they are still valuable to consume. and Erblu doesn’t stay in his celestial form for nearly long enough to recover his energy. Arme nudges the vegetables against Erblu’s lips, and Erblu blinks, opening his mouth to taste it.

“… leafy,” Erblu confirms, sitting up. he places a hand over his mouth as he continues to munch thoughtfully. “… it tastes no different than what Rena usually makes.”

“as expected from a dish made with one of her recipes,” Arme says, offering another bite to Erblu again, who takes it with a happy nod.

“I should ask her for more recipes,” Erblu says after a while. Arme shrugs, pushing the vegetables in the bowl together with the fork.

“so you can make more things for me that I won’t eat?”

“no,” Erblu smiles, glowing with happiness. “so you can sit here with me.”

Arme quirks a brow, raises the fork in his hand. “and feed you?”

and Erblu grins, too pleased with himself. “perfect.”  



	7. 20; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu is sleepy and tired. Arme tries to take care of him.

Arme stirs when the sun rises, peeks through the windows. he blinks slowly, feels his body stretch as he tries to disentangle himself from the mess of blankets and limbs. Erblu mumbles incoherently, refusing to let go, rubbing his face into Arme’s shoulder.

“Erblu, it’s morning.”

morning, when the human body wakes from sleep. Arme himself only rests to allow his human body to cycle accordingly, but sleep is another human ritual Erblu has wholeheartedly embraced.

“Erblu.” Arme nudges again.

“no.” Erblu clings onto him stubbornly. “still… tired. sleepy.”

“if you’re tired, you should rest. properly,” Arme says. Erblu groans and blinks his eyes open blearily to look at him. there’s a layer of exhaustion in those green eyes and Arme’s gaze softens. “Erblu, rest in your celestial form.”

Erblu closes his eyes. “don’t wanna.”

“you’ll recover faster, Erblu.”

Erblu wrinkles his brow, troubled. the warm aura around him is muted and weak. fragile and pleading. Arme settles back underneath the warm covers, placing a hand gently on Erblu’s head. he supposes, the demons in Hamel can wait for a little while longer.

Erblu lets out a soft little breath as he allows himself to ascend into his celestial form. Arme traces his fingers through Erblu’s soft green hair, energy humming, glowing around him. the sunlight grows brighter, lighting up behind the curtains.

“Ain?” a knock on the door. “are you awake?”

and Erblu starts, blinking his eyes open, the energy cycling around him stopping abruptly. Arme places a hand on his head firmly, his voice stern, commanding, “stay,” and stands up, throwing the covers over Erblu’s form.

“Aiin!” the door rumbles from furious pounding. “wake up, sleepyhead, breakfast’s gonna get cold--”

when Arme opens the door, Elsword only blinks at him in surprise, just barely stopping himself from hitting Arme. “... hello, Elsword.”

“g-good morning, Arme,” Elsword says after a stunned silence. he smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t think you were still here. where’s Ain?”

“resting,” Arme says shortly. “it seems like he’s still tired.”

“oh, then he should sleep in,” Elsword says, bouncing awkwardly. “I thought he looked a little worn out last night. anyway, Ciel wanted to know if… uh, if either of you wanted breakfast. I know Ain likes breakfast so...”

Arme frowns. this is why he tries to avoid any interaction with Erblu’s companions. Elsword, he at least can tolerate, even in this more energetic incarnation, but the rest? he understands Erblu enough, but not enough to know why in the goddess’s name Erblu likes their company. Elsword only looks at him nervously, waiting for an answer.

“... uh,” Elsword says, when he doesn’t get one. “well, I’ll tell him to make extra pancakes. then Ain can have them when he wakes up. and you can uh, have some too, if you want.”

“that suffices.”

“great! it’ll be downstairs when you’re ready for ‘em!” Elsword gives him a double thumbs up and zips away, hopping down the stairs several steps at a time. Arme closes the door and returns to the bed, where Erblu’s hiding under the covers, staring blankly down at the mattress.

“ _I’m… missing breakfast_.”

it’s such a forlorn statement that it’s strange hearing it echo emotionlessly in his celestial voice. Arme sits on the bed, places a hand on Erblu’s head, and Erblu only crumples sadly into the pillow.

“rest. you need it.”

Erblu demurs, catches his hand. he tugs Arme down onto the bed again and parts his arms to nestle his face into his chest again. “ _only if you stay_.”

Arme sighs. “I’ll stay _._ ”


	8. 21; (modern!au) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (modern!au: Erblu’s a famous pop idol and Arme’s the president of a weapons technology company. they’re an odd couple, but they don’t really care.) they have a date. as per usual, Erblu chooses the location. Arme has his reservations.

Arme is all formal business, sharp corners and exacting demeanor. teal hair meticulously swept back, firm handshake, closed and guarded by layers of filters, and as sharp with words as he is with blades, Arme’s everything you expect from the brilliant genius at the helm of the weapons manufacturing giant Arme Thaumaturgy.

(it’s in the name, he wants to scream, but no one has figured it out yet. not when he name-dropped Arme the first time, not when he name-dropped three times in his last talk show.)

so it’s a pleasant surprise when Erblu finds Arme standing near the welcome sign, effortlessly epitomizing elegant casual. form-fitting white jeans, flannel shirt over a black tee, teal hair swiped naturally to the side. he’s tapping on his phone with a vacant expression, no doubt checking work emails as he waits. his manager told him before to drag his boyfriend on set for at least one promotional photoshoot with him and Erblu refused only because he knew Arme would never do it. now Erblu wonders whose lives he’s sparing.

(his, probably his. because he’s absolutely dead either way.)

if he could stare forever, he would, but he sees Arme’s brow furrow at his phone and he guesses half an hour past the meeting time is a little too long for even his ever patient boyfriend.

Erblu creeps up from behind and tackles him at the waist, laughing when Arme pitches over with a soft oof.

“Arme~” Erblu sings, with the grace to look apologetic when Arme turns to look at him. “sorry for being late. practice went over time.”

“Erblu.” and of course, Arme greets him with that confused little frown. “sunglasses?” and Arme pinches the front of his cap too. “what are you wearing?”

“shh, Arme.” and Erblu glances around suspiciously. “they know me here.”

“clearly.” Arme knocks at the bulletin board behind him. only now Erblu notices, swallows nervously as his own face smiles back at him. _Emotion_ , debuting his new album “Rein!” Erblu pulls his cap over his hair self-consciously and Arme sighs. “so why are we here?”

“because!” and Erblu digs through his pockets of his coat, borrowed from Arme of course (only he would have such a luxuriously boring black coat), until he procures two tickets and places them proudly into Arme’s hand. “I got these complimentary of the park owners.”

Arme stares at the tickets, tilting it to see the holo effect. it’s sparkling green, no doubt to commemorate Erblu’s new show, and VIP is emblazoned across it in bold capital letters. “you could have chosen any other amusement park, Erblu.”

Erblu huffs, crosses his arms. “I wanted to enjoy my gift for once, Arme. instead of giving them away all the time.”

“you usually choose to give them away though.”

Erblu pouts, but Arme’s right. they tend avoid the venues Erblu will be performing at, but that’s less because Erblu doesn’t want to be recognized and more because neither of them like crowds (which is weird considering both of their professions, but Erblu likes to cut loose when he’s off the stage and Arme just dislikes being around _people_ in general). but it’s a weekday and a school day, so it might be tolerable. and they have never been to an amusement park together before.

“it’s a nice change in pace,” Erblu says, tagging Arme’s hand casually with his, twining their fingers together. “I mean, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to. we can just do the usual, you know, find a nice restaurant, buy the atmosphere or something.”

Arme shrugs. “if it’s with you, I don’t mind.”

Erblu has to pause, surprised. he hides his smile with his hand. “ _Arme_.”

Arme has the gall to blink innocently at him. “what?”

“you’re going to _kill_ me.”

and Arme frowns. he _frowns_. “what did you do now?”

so Erblu tackles him into a happy hug, nearly toppling Arme over in surprise. Arme just stands there awkwardly, not really sure what to do.

“Erblu?”

and Erblu only laughs. he places a finger on Arme’s lips and winks. “don’t worry about it, Arme.”

Arme looks doubtful still and Erblu takes advantage of his confusion to seize his hand again, tugging him toward the entranceway. “by the way, who do I need to thank for dressing you? you look extraordinarily cute today.”

Arme looks at him silently until he turns away. he’s _shy_.

“Hanna,” Arme answers flatly. “said I should look like your boyfriend for once. whatever that means.”

Erblu sparkles happily. “Hanna for the best mom.”

“she isn’t my mom.”


	9. 22; arme / erblu (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> when he falls through the cracks of the world again, he finds himself in another Elrios, in front of the very person who is him.

ah…

so he floats in the abyss once more. he curls up, tries to breathe, but he can’t. he’s only light again, a tiny sphere of energy, drifting in the vast expanse of the void.

but… that’s not quite right. when he opens his eyes, he sees the silent, gaping chaos before him. his hands are aglow, white with divine power. when he touches a fragment of time and space, it crumbles rather than he.

the words that echo in his mind echo through the emptiness.

_“Solace, I choose...”_

what had Elsword chosen? he doesn’t remember. _had_ Elsword chosen? he knows his mission-- he remembers that it cannot be completed until Elsword completes his own. until he’s chosen-- _what_?

“Ain,” the words of the goddess reverberate through his body. “your mission is to restore the El.”

and so he must destroy all those who dare taint it.

he lands upon a space in the abyss and looks up at the crippling black vault of this world. Henir, the primordial intermediary between dimensions, the resting place of the remnants of shattered worlds. he’s been here before, barely a blink after his descent to Elrios, but here he is again now.

he finds a tear before him in the fabric of space. there is light-- and there is warmth. he reaches out with a hand and the world darkens and bends around him.

_“Ain, if I want to restore the El, you said, you’ll… have to leave us?”_

_“yes, Elsword.” a laugh. “but every moment I had with you, with everyone, I cherished.”_

_“but you can’t leave us, Ain--”_

_“I’m sorry, Elsword. but there’s nothing I can do about it.”_

when the world snaps into place, he’s standing amidst a forest, its towering trees swaying gently in the breeze. a source of El hums, somewhere in its depths, extends a kind aura to him.

stolen. returned. restored. so this El has already seen it all. he pulls back his hands and looks to the sky. blue, mottled only by pristine clouds. peaceful. still, the El remembers, there are demons. demons still craving the power of El.

then he is here in this world to find them.

the world melds seamlessly with his memories. Elder, a merchant’s town of stone; Bethma, a fiery sea of bones. but it is Feita that rings stranger, Feita that still crawls with shadows and spirits, still home to demons that he purged long, long ago--

but before he can break his pendulum and summon his divine sword, a firm hand stops him.

“hey,” comes a voice, lilting and playful. “what do you think you’re doing here?”

when he turns around, he meets green eyes, soft with curiosity. the young man is wearing a mage’s robe, a green and white fabric embroidered with gold, but his hair is a plain gray. human? no. a human couldn’t have stopped him-- no human had ever stopped him. the young man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I guess, the better question to ask is-- who are you?”

“I can ask the same of you,” he says, tucking his pendulum under his elbow. he can sense no evil or malice-- only pretense, only _light_. “for what reason did the goddess send you?”

and there is a brief moment of surprise. and it goes, elides into a disassembling smile.

“I came here of my own accord. no one ‘sent’ me. so?” and those eyes shine with judgment. “why are you here?”

but it bothers him, the lie. “you should stop pretending to be human.”

and the young man stops. it’s just a moment, before an aura unfolds entirely, blooming with its warmth.

“fine.” the facade is all but gone and the celestial holds in his hand a pendulum pulsing with a strange magic. “the name the goddess gave me is _Ainchase Ishmael_. my mission is to restore the El.”

and he blinks, in realization. so it is. he has found himself in another world, in front of the very person who is him.

the smile is wry now, strange. “what about you?”

“the same,” he says. he looks into those skeptical green eyes, his own firm, sharp. “my name is the same as yours. and my mission is also... to restore the El.”


	10. 23; arme / erblu (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> he has never met another celestial before, even if this celestial _is_ himself. could he really be blamed for his curiosity?

_“I trust your choice, Elsword.”_

_“but Ain, what if it ends up being the wrong one?”_

_“… I trust you, Elsword.”_

when he wakes up, he shivers. he glances at the others, fast asleep in their sleeping bags, their campfire flickering quietly in the night. he stands, feels the graveyard of shadows close up on him.

he keeps getting this dream. it’s strange, because he doesn’t remember it.

all he remembers is turning into light, remembers knowing, accepting his fate. and the sorrow that swallowed him up.

but that’s behind him now.

he summons his Rein and steps through the underbrush under the bright yellow light. he finds what woke him, the soft, crackling energy of the goddess. when he approaches the Shrine of Dedication, he sees the young man in white coat, a winged pendulum hanging from his right hand. his hair is a bright teal and his entire being hums with the energy of gods.

_Thaumaturgy_ is the divine art of creation. to prepend _Arme_ is to specify the creation of _weapons_. this version of himself from another world has given himself completely to Ishmael. his gaze is like the heavens: piercing, cold, aloof.

he calls him Arme, the instrument of the goddess. and Arme calls him–

“Erbluhen.”

“didn’t I say you could call me Erblu?” he says, smiling easily. the glow of the Eid surrounds him with light, with warmth. “ _Erbluhen_ is a mouthful.”

Arme’s blue eyes flicker to register the assembled Eids, no doubt sensing the healing magic around him. “do not interfere, Erblu.”

it’s a start. he can feel the goddess’s energy resonate from Arme’s pendulum, coiling with anger, displeasure. the emotions don’t reach his expression.

“wouldn’t dream of it. you’re good at your job,” Erblu says, and he descends from the broken pillar he stood upon, walks toward Arme with a flutter in his step. there is disapproval in Arme’s frown, but Erblu is not sorry. “does it bother you that much? the demons.”

“their existence is an affront to the goddess.” it’s an implicit accusation, but Arme is fair. “why you would allow them to exist in your world is a mystery to me.”

Erblu doesn’t explain and Arme doesn’t ask. if Arme _is_ him, he’d understand; Erblu doesn’t have the power to handle the demons alone– never had. still, Erblu swings his pendulum idly around his hand, he’s not completely helpless. and Arme’s discomfort is affecting him too. “want me to help, Arme?”

those distant blue eyes pause, and then they close. “if you slow me down…”

“don’t worry,” Erblu smiles, Eid glowing happily around him. “you can count on me.”

Arme levels him a cool stare, piercing in its depth. he turns away. “I don’t understand your motives and I don’t care. just don’t get in my way.”

Erblu blinks, once in surprise, then again in concern. “I can’t want to be your friend?”

and Arme doesn’t look at him, but his brow furrows. confusion, Erblu reads from his aura, but Arme offers nothing else. it takes a moment for Erblu to realize Arme _can’t_ give him anything else.

“you are comfortable with your humanity,” Arme says softly. “this is the path you chose. leave me out of it.”


	11. 24; erblu / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24; Erbluhen Emotion / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> he doesn’t deserve this. this _warmth_.

“you can do it, I believe in you.”

but should he really? the pain claws, deep in his throat. he feels weak, weakened, just a sliver of existence crushed under the weight of the chaos, and it hurts, _hurts_.

so he holds onto that light, that wonderful warmth he doesn’t deserve. warm lips press against his forehead, feather light on the space above his left eye. careful, caring fingers trace the glow of contaminated glyph. a steady hum surrounds him, filling him with calm, assurance.

when the chaos blooms within him again, he _screams_. it pulses, pulls the pieces of him together, and burns. it hurts. but he’s broken, fractured into nonexistence, and this can fix him, if he would just let it, so he can just _be_.

the presence that embraces him solidifies slowly as he regains his senses. when he blinks open his right eye, he sees soft green eyes smiling at him. a cry bubbles at his throat and he feels the arms around him tighten.

“Erblu,” his breath rasps, shudders as the chilling energy of the void washes over him. his body phases painfully between existences and he clings onto the other celestial, desperate to _stay_.

“shh,” and the kindness folds around him. “take as long as you need to. I’ll be here.”


	12. 25; arme / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25; Arme Thaumaturgy / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Arme neither accepts nor rejects him, neither condemns him nor embraces him. for Wander, that is enough.

Wander knows divine energy when he feels it. having been created in it, he recognizes its awesome power, its imminent wrath. and when he sees those hollow blue eyes land on him, he feels the exacting gaze pierce his very core.

but when Wander opens his eyes, Arme is only observing him, expression empty. Arme says nothing, stays out of reach, and Wander isn’t sure what it means.

(but he feels Arme’s heavenly aura, feels himself fading in its brightness. he, corrupted by the chaos as he is, isn’t worthy of being in the presence of the goddess.)

Arme places a hand on his head, and it jolts him, burns.

“ah–” the hand is gone as quickly as it came and Arme furrows his brow. he feels the lingering effect of divine power, feels it eat through his fragile existence. so this is the effect the goddess’s energy has on him now– cold, piercing pain.

Wander grasps his left wrist nervously and Arme notices, dismissive blue eyes tracing the glowing lines along his left hand. quickly he pulls his sleeve over it– he can’t let Arme see how thorough the corruption is. he can’t let the goddess know how far he has fallen.

Arme looks at him, his trembling, and then sighs.

“you should try to recover your strength.”

he starts at the sound of Arme’s voice, impassive, blunt. will Arme allow him to? is it not blasphemous for a being of Ishmael to pull the power of Henir?

Arme opens his hands out in front of him. that’s when Wander realizes he can no longer sense the goddess in Arme’s aura. Arme feels like a normal human, but his expression is still unreadable.

Wander asks hesitantly, “you’ll let me…?”

“you’re a celestial, Wander,” Arme says, and Wander wonders how Arme can still think of him as a celestial. Arme’s words are matter-of-fact. “you need energy to maintain your form.”

of course he does. he _knows_ he does. but he knows celestials break under the influence of chaos. himself– and other celestials too.

“will…” Wander lowers his eyes. “will it hurt you?”

“I’ve been in Henir’s space before.”

and Wander jumps. he forgets– Arme is him, _was_ him. but Arme didn’t falter, didn’t succumb like he did, to the curse of the chaos inside him.

Wander closes his eyes.

(but he knows he _tried_ , but no matter what he did, he couldn’t find her– he knew, in that moment, the goddess abandoned him.)

Arme reaches out to touch him again, places a hand into his hair, strokes it gently. it doesn’t burn this time, so Wander looks up at Arme in surprise. Arme takes his right hand, doesn’t dare touch the contamination on his left, and just holds his wrist loosely, in invitation.

slowly, Wander accepts the touch, wrapping his hand around Arme’s. it’s… something. something to hold while the energy of Henir flows into him, twisting and burning through what’s left of his divinity.

Arme brushes at Wander’s right eye carefully and Wander realizes he’s crying. his soul is weak with human emotion. Arme frowns and starts to pull away, but Wander tightens his grasp on Arme’s hand.

“don’t– don’t go.” he swallows his tears. “please.”

Arme stops, uncertain, and makes no other movement. and that is enough. if Arme is here, he can fool himself into believing the goddess is still watching over him.


	13. 26; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu makes snow bunnies.

they are outside for some reason. to celebrate the first snowfall of the season, said Erblu, much too enthusiastically at six in the morning, after piling onto him all the clothes in the closet and dragging him out of bed. crouched at the foot of the tree, Arme pulls the soft scarf across his face, feels the chilly morning air prickle his skin.

he has no idea why Erblu’s so excited. all he knows is that his nose is freezing off.

“Arme!”

something lands on top of his head and Arme almost jumps.

“ahh, no, stay still, Arme,” Erblu is pouting, hands holding the _thing_ steady on his head, and Arme, against his better judgment, obeys, stiffening completely. finally, Erblu jumps back with a “tada!”

Arme looks up. or tries to look up at what’s on his head without moving it. there’s a small leaf, poking out of a fuzz of white… snow? he reaches up to touch it. it’s warm, but made of snow.

the other celestial is practically beaming. Arme spots something similar on Erblu’s head, glowing soft with yellow light– Eid. of course. Erblu made these and held each one together with a bubble of Rein Eid.

“what do you think, Arme?”

he doesn’t know what to think. “what is it?”

“a snow bunny!” Arme can’t see the resemblance, so Erblu takes the one on top of his head into his hands and shows it to him. “see,” he points to a pair of thin green leaves. “these are the ears.”

Arme reaches out, touches it. the Eid gives the snow its form, grants it warmth and light. the bundle of snow shifts slightly, moved by emotions, and rubs against his fingers.

Arme quirks his brow. “is this what you use your creation magic for?”

Erblu snorts, but Arme scratches a finger against the leaf. the snow bunny nudges back, the energy rippling happily around it. Erblu scoots the bundle of snow into Arme’s hands and he holds it carefully, tracing his thumbs over the cool softness.

“it’s cute,” Arme says softly.

when Arme looks up, Erblu’s not looking at him and he’s covering his mouth tightly with a hand. his cheeks are flushed from the cold, fingers chilled red from touching snow. Arme reaches up to return the bunny to its perch on Erblu’s head and Erblu starts in surprise, lets Arme pry Erblu’s hand from his face. Arme wraps his gloved hand around the other’s bare, cold one, and Arme frowns.

“we should go back inside,” Arme says, standing up and pulling Erblu up with him. “so you don’t waste more energy keeping yourself warm.”

Arme expects Erblu to complain about cutting his adventure short, but Erblu only sparkles, happily content. “alright, Arme.”


	14. 27; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Arme watches the stars and contemplates their existence. as celestials and humans.

he finds Arme in the chill of the night, resting against a tree, gazing up at the twilight skies. distant. thoughtful. silent. seemingly unaware of his presence. Erblu smiles, before falling onto him, collapsing into the dewy grass around them.

the wind shifts and whispers, and Arme lets out a tired sigh. but he doesn’t push Erblu off his lap.

“stargazing?” Erblu asks, lifting his eyes to look at where Arme’s looking. the pinpricks of light gleam against the dimming tapestry of the sky.

“if that’s what you’d like to call it.”

“why?”

Arme shrugs, leans back against the tree. “it occurred to me that I’ve never really seen them before.”

Erblu flickers his eyes thoughtfully to Arme, then back to the stars. “Elsword told me a story once. a human who spent his years traveling between the stars. each constellation names each of his journeys.”

“humans can’t enter the realm of Elia,” Arme says, but it’s less a dismissal than a statement of fact.

“it’s just a story, Arme. humans find comfort in explaining the unexplained.” Erblu pauses, and a small smile unfolds on his lips. “but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. humans constantly challenge their limitations. for their insignificance, humans… are remarkably brave. admirable.”

“foolish.”

and Erblu blinks, looks at Arme for an explanation. but the celestial’s expression is reserved, empty of emotion.

“am I wrong, Arme?” Erblu folds his hands carefully over his chest, a challenge in his words. if Arme will judge him, he prefers that Arme judge him aloud.

Arme closes his eyes. “no.”

“then?”

Arme says nothing for a long time. the darkness above seems to set, deepening by the minute, a gaping expanse. like this, under the vastness of the sky, it’s easy to realize the smallness of existence. the universe is much greater than Elrios, much greater than their mission, much greater than a single goddess.

“humans,” Arme says quietly. “their presence is but a single drop in the ocean. but the effects of their choices ripple outward.”

Erblu blinks, looks up at him.

“celestials. as beings of light, they pass through the world, unchanging and changing nothing.” Arme stops. “which of the goddess’s creations is more insignificant?”

Erblu reaches up, touches his cheek gently. Arme lowers his eyes. “it’s not too late to accept your humanity, Arme.”

“celestials can never be human.”

Erblu smiles softly. “but you are, right now, human. that you can feel emotions right now means you are _human_. the goddess may have given us a mission, but she has also given us a blessing.”

Arme remains silent.

“the ability to feel like a human, to live as a human,” Erblu continues. “the ability to choose, and to change. to _be_ changed. I treasure it with all of my being. even if one day that is all erased, I still will have experienced it.”

Arme looks up at the sky again, says simply, “I don’t like it. this emotion.”

Erblu smiles. he can feel the restlessness in Arme’s aura, so Erblu curls his hand around the back of his neck in a solid, comforting touch.

“I know.”


	15. 28; (modern!au) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (modern!au: Erblu’s a famous pop idol; Arme’s the president of a weapons technology company. they’re an odd couple, but they make it work somehow.) Erblu has a new date idea: ElFlicks and chill! except Arme misses the point. and so does Erblu.
> 
> related: 21

Arme flips through the movie selection quickly, cheek resting against his knuckles, staring blankly at the images crossing the screen. Erblu has never once mentioned movies in the three years Arme’s known him, so when Arme saw the text Erblu sent him during work, he wondered if one of his friends stole his phone again. (Rune, probably, again.)

neither of them actually watch anything for entertainment. the only reason they even have a television is because Erblu won it in one of his Christmas party raffles and his apartment was so messy he dragged it to Arme’s instead. Erblu will sometimes use it to watch replays of his live performances or interviews and Arme will join him, because it’s obvious Erblu ups his charm to max in front of a camera and Arme will not miss a chance to point it out.

so Arme just runs with it. after all, the subscription doesn’t cost much. and he isn’t in the habit of questioning Erblu’s inane ideas. when Helen came around with the monthly expense reports, she only gave him one of her knowing, cryptic smiles and recommended _Solace_. Arme makes a note to make any future impulse purchases on the card Helen doesn’t have access to.

after half an hour or so, Arme sinks back into the comfort of the couch, closing his eyes. he dozes off for a while, until he hears the lock to his apartment rumbling.

Erblu doesn’t disappoint him. the door slams open, knocks against the wall, and vibrates on its hinge.

“sorrryyy, Arme!” Erblu places both hands together in apology. "I'm sorry I’m so late. I lost track of time and I rushed here as fast as I could.”

Arme glances at his phone absently– half past eight and nearly an hour after the agreed time. not too bad; Erblu left him hanging for two hours once before. what with Erblu’s hectic schedule, Arme’s surprised Erblu even has any free time to spend with him.

Erblu unwinds his scarf, tossing his coat and other stuff unceremoniously onto the shoe rack next to the door. Arme is about to stand when Erblu tackles him into the couch, burrowing his head against into his stomach. Arme presses his lips lightly against Erblu’s soft gray hair and Erblu whines, tugging on his sweater.

“I missed you so much, Arme,” Erblu mumbles, nuzzling against him.

Arme sighs. Erblu’s most definitely had at least one drink. “have you eaten?”

“came right after the dinner was finished,” Erblu says, dodging the question. Arme frowns, but Erblu turns on his puppy eyes. “it was really fun. come with me next time, so I can introduce you to all my fans. Arme, the best boyfriend in the world.”

his answer is automatic. “I’ll pass.” Erblu pouts, but doesn’t push it.

Arme rolls his shoulder, before thumbing his phone to the movie app again. Erblu stretches out lazily on the couch, before following his gaze to the television and visibly perking up.

“wait, you really bought an ElFlicks subscription?”

Arme shrugs. “a year’s sub.” and when Erblu just stares at him, he shrugs again. “there was a promotion going on.”

Erblu gives him that soft smile and then looks at the screen in excitement. “so what do you want to watch?”

“I was going to let you choose.” Arme tabs through the movie selection, this time slowly enough to actually read the descriptions. _Solace_ is a period action and romantic drama, and from the preview clips, he can see why Helen recommended it to him.

“ooh, knives,” Erblu says, clapping softly. “you like throwing knives.”

“he’s gripping it wrong; he won't hit anything.”

“Arme, you saw like, two seconds of it.”

Arme switches another movie when the preview enters steamier territory. as the next trailer unfolds to a panoramic view of a forest, Erblu rests his head sleepily against Arme’s stomach. as they listen to the epic drumming music in silence, Arme asks again, “do you have any preference?”

“what, me? no,” Erblu frowns a little, for a long thoughtful second. “just choose one you like.”

“I don’t watch movies, Erblu.”

“choose one you _think_ you’d like.”

Arme furrows his brow. Erblu isn’t going to let him get away, is he? he looks at the recommended movie list, scrolling through as he reads the critical summaries. he eventually lands on one, _The Lord’s Men_ , and pauses for a moment to look at the men in sleek suits.

“spies?”

“secret agents, I think.”

“like you were,” Erblu points out.

and Arme frowns. “there’s a difference between a secret agent and a field agent, Erblu. one is not nearly as made for television as the other.”

Erblu reaches over to take his phone from him and presses play, before nestling his head into Arme’s lap again. Arme sighs, searches the couch for the remote to the lights and dims the room.

they don’t really watch so much as banter about the movie; Erblu claps at nearly every tiny stunt the protagonists perform and Arme is only just a little bothered the setting isn’t so true to reality. some of the explosions of blood are just a bit overenthusiastic for his taste.

halfway through the movie, Erblu falls asleep, letting out soft little snores as an apocalypse plays out loudly on the screen. Arme lowers the volume incrementally before deciding to turn it off completely and set his phone aside. he stands, tucks his arms under Erblu, before raising him up easily, realizing with a frown that Erblu is still unnaturally light. Arme should have pressed him more about eating or heated up some leftovers for him; Erblu is notorious for skipping meals, especially if he’s at work-related functions.

(too busy having fun, he says, but Arme doesn’t believe it. as much as Erblu likes to casually shrug it off, Arme knows how much thought and energy Erblu puts into his work.)

but it’s too late now to rouse him. and since Erblu said he was staying over tonight, Arme can take care of him during breakfast tomorrow. so Arme carries him to his room and lays Erblu onto the bed. when Arme places his hand against Erblu’s cheek, Erblu rubs against it, blinking his eyes open blearily.

“shower?” Arme asks, sitting on the side of the bed. Erblu lets out a yawn, grabs his hand tightly in his.

“tomorrow. had one after practice,” Erblu mumbles sleepily. Arme shakes out the covers and pulls it over him, before slipping into the bed beside him and Erblu rolls over, tangling his limbs around Arme instinctively. yawns. “nn nn, Arme.”

Arme runs a hand through Erblu’s hair and kisses him on the forehead. “good night, Erblu.”


	16. 29; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> those words he never understood, could never understand. because celestials do not understand the concept called love.

it’s a quiet morning in the fields of Ruben. the El that seeps through the bounties of the lands, its crisp green glow enveloping its creations, spreads outward from the wooden shrine that houses it.

Arme stands in front of the El, eyes closed, arms crossed. Erblu taps his feet lightly over the moss-covered paths and Arme opens his eyes, sensing him.

“… Erblu.”

and Erblu smiles. “Arme.”

but Erblu says nothing more. the quiet breeze wraps around them, the two celestials of Ishmael.

Arme glances back at the El. “you don’t usually seek me out, Erblu.”

Erblu rocks on his heels, holding his hands behind his back. “just wanted be around you, Arme.”

a simple statement, casually tossed out. but Arme knits his brow. “it’s never just a _just_ from you.”

and Erblu laughs. “as usual, you see right through me, Arme.”

Arme looks at him in suspicion and Erblu’s smile softens.

“thank you.”

Arme blinks. “for what?”

“for helping me all this time. for putting up with me even when I’m annoying. for setting me straight when I’m– overwhelmed by human emotions.” and Erblu lowers his eyes and Arme sees they are moist. “you know, thank you for just… being there with me when I needed… needed it.”

Arme doesn’t understand. “why this all of a sudden?”

“no reason,” Erblu lies, shaking his head. but he smiles through his tears and Arme can only remain silent. “thank you, Arme, for teaching me how to love.”

-

the hollow of the heavens is large and encompassing. the chill of the blue light is familiar and he, his light tainted green with El, lands formlessly into the presence of the goddess.

_“Ainchase, you have completed your mission.”_

his light sparkles brightly, wordlessly in confirmation. he feels the goddess’s energy wash over him, tickle him. it is a comforting aura, but not the same.

_“… you became human.”_

_I did_. had he a form, he would be bowing his head in submission. _to fulfill my mission, I needed to take on a human form._

_“that is not what I mean.”_ the goddess gently nudges him to attention. _“Ainchase, do you sense what is within you?”_

the warmth within him tingles, surrounded by the cool judgment of the divine. when he realizes what she means, he soars.

_yes, my goddess. yes. it is because I love now. I_ love _._

his tiny light radiates warmly, proudly in the grand cavern of the heavens. the goddess’s light embraces him gently, like soft petals.

_“then go, Ainchase. you are no longer under my command. you have managed to create something only I can. you may go, go to where your heart desires.”_

and his light stills.

_I… can go back? I will not disappear?_

and the goddess hums in assent. _“you were created as a celestial and that existence and your memories of it will still disappear. but the existence you have created for yourself will remain. it is yours.”_

_I… understand._ his heart beats, flutters alive with emotion. _then, my goddess, may I offer you one final prayer?_

_“Ainchase, my dear creation, you may.”_

_my goddess, I pray my emotions will one day reach the existence that is precious to me._

-

here in the forests of Ruben, the shrine where the El glows radiates with a familiar warmth. he reaches out, closes his eyes, and lets the history of the El, all of its bloodshed and war, flow into him.

it does not fill the emptiness in his core. it does not fill the gap in his memories.

he pulls back his hands, hears a whisper on the wind.

he does not understand.

-

it hums with the energy that fills his being– the vault of the heavens, where he was created and given purpose.

_“Ainchase, you have returned.”_

he lands upon a platform of light, his wings extended wide behind him. the goddess rains upon him purifying light, attending with her presence.

_“you seem troubled.”_

he does not need to remind the goddess, but he does so instinctively. _that is a human emotion._

the light of the goddess washes over his form and his white coat bellows, as if touched by wind.

_“so you feel a human emotion.”_ if gods could express emotions, he imagines an amused chuckle accompanying those words. _“are you finally acknowledging your human existence?”_

he does not answer, arms stiff at his side. but she is right– he is “troubled.” he looks up, waits for a new order.

_“Ainchase. you have completed your mission and exceeded my jurisdiction long ago. you need not answer to me anymore.”_

his eyes narrow, defiant. _my goddess, I have no intention of abandoning the purpose of my creation._

there is a period of silence, until the goddess’s voice melds into his being. _“then, Ainchase, god of wrath, I, Ishmael, goddess of creation, have a request for you.”_

he lowers his head, bows deeply in reverence.

_“will you give me your pendulum?”_

without hesitation, he offers it to her and it rises, wrapped in divine light. it forms into a slender sword, the chain of the pendulum hanging from its hilt. the core is all but gone, leaving only two white wings, and he realizes, when it falls into his hands, it resonates with the same power as _Erst der Letzt_.

_“live as a human with no memories of your divinity and use that time to find what your heart seeks. then choose whether you wish to continue this existence.”_

he holds the sword in his hand and it gleams white-blue with the pulse of creation. _is this your command, my goddess?_

_“no, it is your choice. you may choose to stay here, but I will have no mission to give you. you may choose to create a new purpose, as you have been doing thus far. or you may listen to this request.”_

he holds fast against the guiding pressure, but something within him wavers.

_“go, Ainchase.”_ the light presses against him gently. _“and you will find the existence that is precious to you.”_

-

the sun is high in the sky and he is completely and utterly late. Erblu pulls his socks on as he tumbles down the stairs, somehow miraculously not dropping the small wooden box he’s clasped under his arm. when he passes the window next to the door, he notices that rebellious strand of gray hair stubbornly awry and he attempts to flatten it. no need to invite pointless harassment after all.

Minky greets him at the door, meows innocently. “stay,” Erblu says sternly, as she rubs against his pant leg. “Minky, not today. don’t want spend all day trying to find you, okay?”

she meows again, like in understanding, and Erblu opens the door crack, enough to slip out. he dashes down the main road of Velder, waving at the villagers out on their afternoon routine. as he runs, he wishes he could just gather the energy of the wind and ride it there.

when Erblu finally arrives at the Red Knights training grounds, he’s breathless. he rests his head against the wooden fence post, slowly recovering his energy. he doesn’t run often– usually, he casually strolls and chats everyone up, but today– this is important. important that he not be late, which he is, completely and totally–

“good afternoon, Erblu.”

and he feels a firm hand ruffle his messy hair.

“Arme, hi.” Erblu lets out a breathless laugh as he turns to see a too familiar frown on Arme’s face. “sorry, I’m– uh, late.”

Arme, as usual, has not a single gray strand out of place, dressed neatly in his white uniform coat. his sword remains at his side, its winged tassel gleaming gold in the sunlight. Erblu looks like a mess in comparison, paints and oils staining his coat, his hair mussed from the wind.

“hold on, let me– just…”

Erblu pushes the box at Arme and Arme takes it, blinking in gracious surprise.

“I… didn’t get anything for you,” Arme says hesitantly, tilting the box carefully in his hands, and Erblu smiles. “it didn’t… occur to me that it was something people did on this day.”

“of course it didn’t, Arme,” Erblu laughs when Arme frowns, and then taps the box. “it’s just something small. I just saw them and thought of you. I spent all morning trying to fix it up, since Hanna wouldn’t let me use her tools until she was absolutely sure I could use them without hurting myself.”

as he says that, Erblu pockets his bandaged left hand quickly into his coat. but Arme has already seen it, reaching over to fish Erblu’s hand out. when he presses his thumb lightly across the bandages, Erblu tries not to wince.

“you should really take care of yourself, Erblu.”

Erblu pouts, pulls his hand back, and taps the wooden box with his other hand. “open it, Arme. appreciate my efforts.”

“alright.” Arme sighs and cracks open the box.

nestled in bright teal cloth are two clean steel knives, thin white gilded wings painted on its wooden handles. Arme goes quiet and Erblu only continues to smile, leaning against him gently, placing his chin on Arme’s shoulder.

“like them?”

“I… do.” those awe’d words has Erblu patting himself mentally on the back. Arme looks up and his eyes are soft, gentle, unlike him. Erblu relishes it. “I… didn’t get you anything.”

“don’t worry, I don’t need anything,” Erblu says. he just needs Arme. only Arme. “this is my thanks to you for– being here.”

as opposed to… not being here? Erblu can’t imagine a world where he can’t run over to the training grounds and watch the Arme lead his squadron in drills. can’t imagine a world where he can’t sit in the peace of the meadows, painting the colors of the sky, Arme leaning against him, falling asleep to his hummed lullabies.

but Erblu knows, somehow, that world was very real.

Arme closes the box carefully and sets it on the wooden fence post. places a hand on Erblu’s head again, tiptoes to place a kiss on his forehead. when Arme pulls away, Erblu raises his hand to touch the spot gently.

“Arme…?”

“thank you, Erblu.” Arme’s light blue eyes are hesitating, unsure. Erblu blinks as Arme looks away, struggles with his words. “thank you… for teaching me how to love. … you. I… I love you.”

and Erblu tackles him, wrapping his arms around Arme tightly, crying, joyfully, crying. he doesn’t know– _can’t_ know how long he’s been waiting to hear those words. Arme places a hand on his back, cradles him gently in his arms.

“I love you too, Arme,” Erblu cries, pressing his face into Arme’s shoulder. he feels the warmth, the happiness within him bloom. “always have. I never stopped. and I will never stop.”

Arme only nestles his nose into his hair. “I know.”

Erblu pulls away, brushing his tears away with the sleeve of his coat. and he smiles, wraps his hand around Arme’s, twines their fingers together.

“I love you, Arme.”

Arme lowers his eyes. “mm.”

“I love you.”

when Arme doesn’t answer, Erblu’s grin widens. “c’mon, say it again, Arme. don’t be shy.”

Arme pushes him away, placing a hand on his head. but there’s a fond smile on his face, small and wry. “don’t push it, Erblu.”

and Erblu laughs, happy, true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day  
> when you get tired of saying you love me  
> and you will, because nothing lasts forever  
> I hope we can sit in silence and enjoy it together  
> I hope then  
> I can repeat these words back to you  
> because I’ve learned how to say it  
> and mean it  
> because I learned it from you
> 
> * * *
> 
> just some notes on this story. slight deviation from the official lore.
> 
> **lore!headcanon:**
> 
> _celestials are less significant than humans_. humans live and thrive; they have their own desires and make their own choices. to the goddess, humans are important– after all, she tries repeatedly to restore the El so that it could sustain life in Elrios. by contrast, celestials are created by the goddess to fulfill a purpose, with no will, no emotion, and no conscience of their own. the goddess is omnipresent within each celestial and moves them, similar to how she moves the El Lady– celestials are mere extensions of her grace. when they have completed their mission, they disappear.
> 
>  _Ain is the exception to this rule_. according to this definition of a celestial, he is not one, because he has his own thoughts and his own conscience. he was created as a celestial, still refers to himself as a celestial, but because he needed to adopt a human form to fulfill his mission, he also receives the ability to behave, act, and feel emotions like a human does. (he tries to keep his existence as a human separate from his existence as a celestial, but emotions are incredibly potent, especially for an existence not meant to have them.)
> 
> Ain develops as a character based on his reaction to his newfound humanity.
> 
>  _Erbluhen Emotion_  comes to fully develop his human self, to the point that it stands separately from his existence as a celestial. he creates a life out of the simple celestial existence Ishmael gave him, and when he finally completes his mission, Ishmael will not and does not take that away from him.
> 
>  _Arme Thaumaturgy_ shuns his humanity in favor of completing his mission, but he does not disappear either. because he becomes so attuned with the goddess, his existence becomes synonymous with the goddess herself– the goddess’s will is his will, his will is the goddess’s will. after fulfilling his original mission, he crafts a new purpose for himself without the goddess’s explicit command. he has restored the El; but there are still demons who will continue to attempt corrupting it, so he needs to remain in Elrios to defend the El. this makes sense to him, and it makes sense to the goddess, so she allows it.


	17. 30; apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30; Apostasia
> 
> all things will cease to exist. even gods, even his own being. _but he exists, right now, does he not?_

there is a voice he hears inside him.

through the wrath of his scythe, in shades of his absolution, he hears incoherent screams and, when it grows tired, haunting whispers. when the world crumbles before him in flecks of soot, when he closes his eyes and lets the gap between dimensions embrace him, he hears.

_goddess..._

he knows. it is the part of him that still feels, trembles in the hollow cage he calls his body. a useless human thing. it still feels the emotions that deluged him, overwhelming, unending-- the fear, the doubt, the shame, the guilt that consumed him, deafened him, blinded him--

it is all unnecessary now.

all things will cease to exist. even gods, even his own being. _but he exists, right now, does he not?_

why does the voice persist? when will it stop echoing in his mind? does it not tire from the effort? its resistance is futile. _his existence is futile._

he watches as more of his human body crumble into the abyss surrounding him, flake off slowly into the infinite. the pain that tore into him and tore him apart is nothing to him now. he is but the pawn of the gods, from creation to destruction, from the beginning to the end.

only the means to the very end.

_the name he was given… the purpose for which he was created… does he remember?_

it does not matter anymore.

_because he_ failed _._

the words tremor within him. he wraps himself in the energy of the void and curls his fragmented body into a ball, letting the prickling darkness cocoon him, piece him slowly back together. he floats in the emptiness, but within him, the voice still cries softly.

_does the goddess still hear him? if she does, then why does the goddess let him suffer? why does the goddess not end him here?_

in the silence, he closes his eyes, pushes himself farther into the pitch. he knows the goddess does not exist. he knows there is no longer any god to whom he can pray.

_someone. anyone._ it is small, fragile, and weak, its supplications, useless. no one can reach him here in the depths of his chaos.

_save him._

he does not need to be saved.

_he does not deserve to be saved._


	18. 31; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Arme finds Apos at his weakest point. Arme never fails to find him.

his body rattles as he breathes, slow gasps around the wounds that pierce his form. dregs of shadow gather into an inky pool around him, seeps into the hollow that is his body. the night is his solace, because his body will protest the cold, not the pain.

a shift. there should be no life here but the material. he tilts his head against the trunk of the tree, letting his hair fall away from his left eye, watches the dim forest for falling leaves.

he doesn’t need to. the aura is bright and shining when it appears, white-ghost in his gray sight. he blinks his eyes slowly, adjusts to the color.

“Arme.”

his voice is rough, from disuse. the celestial, gleaming like the sky against the darkness, steps forward, arms crossed. those blue eyes are impartial but firm, hollow like judgment.

Apos moves his fingers experimentally but feels nothing. a casual glance tells him they’re still cut into ribbons, dripping with black threads. his pendulum, tainted with corruption, lays off to his side, but he cannot move his hand enough to summon it.

so he says, voice soft, “kill me.”

he feels the cool stare bore into his being, meticulously sundering his fractured existence. so Apos raises his head, dares to lock eyes with Arme’s. he searches for disapproval, for disgust, for _emotion_ , but Arme doesn’t give it to him.

“death is a human construct,” Arme says. “it’s not the relief a celestial can have.”

the celestial is now only a step in front of him, just outside the circle of chaotic energy that encases him. Arme crouches so he’s eye-level with Apos, his gaze piercing.

Apos gazes back unflinchingly. “then why are you here?”

Arme doesn’t give him an answer. Apos doesn’t expect one. Arme will do this every time he finds Apos, fractured and broken, surrounded by pieces of chaos and himself. Arme will find him and sit there, just out of reach, his divine energy circulating around him, a reminder of the purity Apos can no longer have. and Apos will ask him, every time, to kill him.

but Arme still hasn’t.

Apos’s left hand twitches, alive, and it shoots out like a dart. the rest of his body groans with the effort, unspooling itself, as he grasps Arme’s wrist, curls his fingers around the pulse of the goddess.

_“does it hurt?” Apos asked when Arme winced._

_“yes.”_

_“then why don’t you pull away?”_

Arme doesn’t move. even when the chaos eats at Arme’s divine aura, Arme only watches him with lofty detachment. like this, his form collapsing into itself, Apos is harmless. Arme knows. that’s why he’s here.

but why is he here, if not to destroy him?

“are you done?” Arme asks finally. Apos holds his wrist for a last long moment and then lets go. Arme pulls back, pinches his glove up over his wrist, but it’s not enough to cover the blasphemy imprinted into Arme’s human skin, feathering with the ashes of chaos. Arme stands and dusts his coat of dirt and particulate.

“what do I need to do to disappear?”

Arme looks at him, impassive. the words come with no promise of deliverance.

“forgive yourself.”

and with a whip of his white wings, Arme is gone.

Apos tilts his head back to face the sky and feels the night weigh upon him alone.

forgiveness. a human construct. it’s not something a monster like him deserves.


	19. 32; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Elsword can see that Erblu loves Arme. Erblu doesn’t. celestials can’t love, after all.

the first time Erblu tries to introduce Elsword to him, Arme tunes both of them out completely. it isn’t his fault Elsword starts interrogating _him_ about their connection-- they’re both priests with a mission from the goddess, that’s how they know each other-- and Arme just ups and leaves without a word but-- he supposes there could be better places for introductions than the demon-infested Shrine of Dedication.

(Arme fights for weeks afterward without pause because if he dislikes humans and any interaction with them, Arme will not tolerate the presence of demons whatsoever. Erblu makes a note to never introduce Lu and Ciel to him.)

the second time Erblu attempts, Arme spends the entire time staring at Elsword rather than trying to talk to him. Elsword keeps glancing at him for help and Erblu tries to nudge the conversation along, but Arme doesn’t stop looking at him, his gaze piercing, disapproving. eventually Arme places a hand on Elsword’s head and leaves as wordlessly as he came.

(Erblu wonders once what the Elsword in Arme’s world was like and Arme shrugs. he didn’t judge Elsword’s choices in his world and so he won’t judge him in this world. that’s what he _says_ , but Arme definitely judges.)

Erblu doesn’t even try after that. the next time they meet Elsword runs into the other celestial by accident in the Resiam. Arme easily returns to his human form to catch him, throwing crystal daggers at the Shadow Defenders pursuing them. when Erblu catches up with them, Arme merely tosses Elsword at him and Elsword barely gets to say thanks before Arme disappears once again.

Elsword asks him later over a bowl of soup in front of the inn’s fireplace, “what do you like about Arme, Ain?”

and Erblu blinks. Elsword is looking thoughtful, which is an unusual look for the rash human.

“I don’t really know,” Erblu says with a kind smile. Erblu does know, but he’s not about to tell Elsword. it’s too closely tied with his celestial existence and the fact that he’s constantly lying to Elsword about it that it’s easier just to feign ignorance.

Elsword looks at him like he doesn’t believe him and then says, remarkably pensive, “he reminds me of how you used to be. you know, when we first met you.”

“hm? really?” Erblu knows he had to learn to be more friendly. more natural. more _human_. by contrast, Arme, he considers with a small smile, doesn’t even _try_. “I don’t believe I was _that_ cold and unsociable.”

“well, you weren’t _as_ bad as Arme is. just... distant,” Elsword says, waving his spoon. “like, never really saying what’s on your mind.”

well, they were the same person at one point; they only chose to take different paths. but Erblu’s not about to tell Elsword that either. Erblu knows any lecture about the space and time of the universe will only go over Elsword’s head that it’s more convenient not to bring it up.

“there, just like that, Ain.”

Erblu blinks in attention then pulls his lips back wryly. “I’m sorry, Elsword. unlike most people, I actually think before I speak.”

Elsword rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait. “whatever, Ain. I’m just glad you have someone you love now.”

Erblu only gives him a blank stare. him, a celestial of Ishmael? love?

“I don’t… understand what you mean. Arme?” and Elsword nods. a gentle smile spreads easily across Erblu’s face. “Elsword, we’re just friends.”

friends, a concept Erblu knows enough about to use. but Elsword looks at him in confusion. Erblu returns the confusion with equal parts of sincerity and amusement. “really? I thought you guys were… like, sleeping together.”

“we are,” Erblu answers plainly, and he freezes when an embarrassed flush creeps onto Elsword’s face. Erblu tries to clarify, “because… Arme needs somewhere to rest sometimes…? instead of, you know, outside?“

Elsword covers his face with a palm, his shoulders shaking with… pain? amusement? embarrassment? he wants to ask Elsword to explain what emotion he’s feeling, but this doesn’t seem like the best time to do that.

when Elsword finally stops looking like he’s dying, he says, “that is not what I mean, Ain.”

“what do you mean then?”

Elsword lets out a long breath, clearly in an attempt to collect himself, and looks at Erblu again, lips twisted awkwardly into a smile. that is also another weird look on him. “forget what I said. like completely.”

Erblu air-quotes, quirking his brow skeptically. “‘sleeping together’?”

Elsword holds his hands in front of him and then moves the air he’s holding to his side decisively. “ _Ain_. you like it when Arme’s around. you’re always talking to him. you’re always around him, in his space. and like, he actually lets you do that.”

Erblu tilts his head. is it really that strange? Arme’s aura is pleasant to be in. everyone’s auras are pleasant to be in. “but I’m like that with everyone too. some hu-- _people_ less often than others, but Mr. Ancient can be a little less of a prick about it--”

Elsword makes a strangled noise. “Ain, that’s not the same. Arme is like…” Elsword shifts his hands from side to side, forehead creased in thought. “I don’t know. like an ice hedgehog. cold and prickly. even for me, he’s just really hard to talk to. and he always looks like he’s about to murder something with a million spikes. but you-- Ain, stop laughing! I’m trying _so hard_ to be serious right now.”

Erblu can’t, wiping a tear from his eye, as he wheezes, “ice… hedgehog. Arme’s an ice hedgehog…”

“the point is!” Elsword declares. “you like him. you like being around him.”

Erblu smiles broadly. “despite him being an ice hedgehog, yes.”

Elsword pushes on valiantly. “and he is the only person you feel this way toward.”

“that’s fair to say, yes.”

“that’s love, Ain.”

Elsword watches him closely, as if waiting for a spark of realization to hit him. but Erblu knows he can’t give Elsword the answer he’s expecting.

because he’s a celestial. celestials can’t love.

“I don’t understand, Elsword,” Erblu says, carefully measuring his confusion. “what’s the difference? that Arme’s an ice hedgehog?” Erblu grins when Elsword facepalms again.

“ _Ain_. okay, okay, I get it,” Elsword holds up his hands. “it was a shit comparison, but that was the first thing I could think of.”

“I think it’s great.” Erblu snickers. “the next time I see Arme, I should--”

“don’t even _think_ about it, Ain. he’s going to kill me and dice me into tiny pieces and excommunicate my soul into Henir or something.”

“what are you talking about, Elsword?” Erblu pats Elsword’s head. humans are too interesting when they’re flustered. “Arme wouldn’t do that.”

Elsword only looks at him, seemingly legitimately terrified.

but Arme’s a celestial. he doesn’t care about humans or what they think. and that’s something Erblu can’t tell Elsword at all. so Erblu says instead, smiling softly, “he’s just not that type of person.”


	20. 33; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 33; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Erblu teaches Apos how to feel.

the sensation is muffled, but he can feel the snow fall, cling onto his bare fingers. Apos watches as the light flakes fall into his hand, sticking onto his corrupted skin. the snow glitters in the dim lamp light.

all of a sudden, something wraps around his neck. he jerks away from it instinctively, only to hear a loud, familiar laugh.

“Apos, you’re going to freeze if you stay out here.”

without warning, Erblu hops over the bench, sits himself next to him, and glows. Apos touches the soft scarf between his fingers and notices with a blink that Erblu doesn’t have one either.

“warmer now?”

Apos doesn’t know how to answer. the scarf barely covers his shoulders, so he’s not sure what Erblu is trying to accomplish.

“come on, don’t hide. you’re not allowed to hide from me, Apos,” Erblu laughs, tugging the scarf down so it’s not covering his mouth.

“I’m not hiding.”

“it sure looked like you were,” Erblu grins.

Apos looks away, but the emotions continue to flow directly into his mind.

“we should get you your own scarf,” Erblu says, pressing his nose into the fabric of the scarf, and Apos pulls back, staring at Erblu in confusion. “and some nice winter clothes. so you don’t feel like an ice ball all the time.”

Erblu squeezes his bare left arm, as if to prove a point, and Apos yanks his arm away. Erblu is barely fazed, smiling gently as Apos rubs the spot Erblu touched. they linger like phantoms– the emotions and his hand.

“I’m not,” Apos mumbles and Erblu tilts his head. before Erblu tries to explain to him what a metaphor is again, Apos says, “I don’t feel cold.”

“you don’t _feel_ cold,” Erblu says. “doesn’t mean you _aren’t_.”

and Erblu jumps up from the bench, grabs his hand with a sharp tug. with a start, Apos tumbles off inelegantly, tries to find his footing on the slippery path. Erblu laughs as Apos grabs onto Erblu’s arm to balance himself.

“you’re cute when you’re surprised, Apos.”

when Apos looks at him, Erblu is positively sparkling. Apos lowers his eyes and releases his grasp on Erblu’s arm. Erblu’s smile softens.

“it’s okay to touch me, you know. it’s not like I’ll get corrupted from just physical contact.”

Erblu waves his hand in the air absently, the El surrounding him curling with the wind, then he takes Apos’s wrist. this time, Apos doesn’t react, only waits for the blue darkness of his corruption seep into Erblu’s skin.

it doesn’t. Apos looks up to see Erblu’s shining expression.

“see? in my human form, it doesn’t happen.”

the emotion in his voice strikes something within his core and his vision shakes. Apos wants to pull away, but Erblu holds onto him still more tightly, steady, secure.

“Apos, it’s okay. let yourself feel,” and those calm green eyes are impossibly _kind_. “this is happiness.”


	21. 34; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Arme buys Apos a plush bear. yea, i’m trying to figure out how that happened too.

Apos stops walking. Arme stops too just a moment later, when he realizes Apos has stopped following. when Arme turns around, he finds Apos gazing through a shop window at a display of children’s toys, his hollow green eyes focused on a wooden crate and the stuffed plush resting on it. a fluffy white bear with threaded blue eyes.

Arme blinks, but understands.

Apos starts to walk again, but pauses when he feels Arme’s presence disappear abruptly from his immediate area. he glances around before noticing the celestial inside the shop, talking to a woman in an apron and pointing toward the window. Apos watches as the shopkeeper looks out the window nervously, meets his empty eyes, before immediately looking back to Arme in panic. Arme, for his part, appears mildly annoyed and impatient, arms crossed.

the shopkeeper eventually concedes and approaches the window, trying her best to avoid Apos’s eyes. Apos looks down, rubbing his left arm self-consciously. he hates it when humans look at him like that; their fear only riles his chaos.

a few minutes later, Arme exits the shop. when Apos looks up from the ground, Arme pushes the plush bear into his hands, carefully avoiding direct contact. Apos blinks, curls his fingers around the soft plush, before looking up at Arme’s blank blue eyes in askance.

“why?”

Arme shrugs, folding his arms over the bag of groceries in his hand. “that was my question.”

Apos lowers his eyes and squishes the bear in his grasp. when he realizes he’s being too forceful, he holds it more gently, lets it rest upon his arms. it feels fragile, like it might break. it’s more like Arme than he thought.

Apos says as much. “I thought it looked like you.”

and Arme blinks. “does it?”

“blue,” Apos points, gesturing at its eyes. then to the bear’s face. “white.”

Apos waits for a reaction. Arme quirks a brow but is otherwise unmoved. “ah.”

Apos lowers his gaze to the plush again, fingers pressing into the soft fur. it’s a solid if fabricated presence. “you didn’t have to get it, Arme.”

he would only destroy it in the end anyway, like everything else he grew fond of. but Arme says simply, “you wanted it.”

but he didn’t. at least, Apos doesn’t think he did. Apos’s gaze wanders toward one of Arme’s hands, lingers on it thoughtfully.

Apos feels a gentle touch on his head and it’s gone as quickly as it came. Apos blinks, momentarily surprised, looking up at Arme again. Arme’s still holding up his hand carefully, expression reserved.

“enough?” Arme asks.

no. but he doesn’t say so. Arme won't risk touching him again anyway. when Apos doesn’t respond, Arme whips his hand in the air, purging the shade of corruption before it starts to set in. the celestial turns around wordlessly, starts back to the house.

Apos holds the stuffed bear against his chest, follows. as a replacement, it’ll do.


	22. 35; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> he will not call a celestial the name of a curse.
> 
> related: 31

when he finds him, he understands. the lifeless eyes gazing from behind the curtain of chaos, the black scythe the celestial clutches desperately in those fragmenting hands, the pieces of ash flaking from that corrupted form.

the fate called _Apostasia_.

“the name I was given, the purpose for which I was created… why do you want to know?”

the voice is impassive, but the chaos riots against it. the words do not match the emotions rising up from the darkness; the emotions do not match the emptiness in those eyes.

he feels the core within the other celestial that pulses in time with his. perhaps, he needn’t have asked.

“ _Ainchase Ishmael_ ,” he says, in the voice that echoes with the power of the goddess. those hollow green eyes remain detached, unfeeling, but the emotions-- the guilt, the resigned acceptance-- awaken. “that is the name you were given.”

the whisper traces of irreverence and, simultaneously, the chaos: shame. “that name is no longer mine.”

he decides. “I refuse to call you _Apostasia_.” and those eyes blink slowly. “ _Apos_ , then, if you refuse to be _Ain_.”

because he will not call a celestial the name of a curse. he will not call the existence that is also _himself_ the name of the fate he feared the most-- _still_ fears.

“then, _Arme_ , weapon of the goddess,” comes the soft words and those haunted eyes turn toward him again, fixing onto his core, onto the divine weapon in his hand. “if you still believe her to be merciful and kind... kill me.”

he cannot.

“celestials cannot be killed,” he says. he lets his sword dissipate into crystal, watches as those eyes follow the shimmering light. “we can only disappear after our purpose has been fulfilled.”

“I am not a celestial anymore.” toneless. but the chaos trembles with an anger filled with deep sorrow. “I no longer have a purpose.”

he understands. this feeling, this emotion-- in the moment the El shattered and he was left floating aimlessly within the chaos. in the moment, when the frustration, the doubt, the rage that threatened to take hold, he destroyed the part of him that still yearned irrationally to _feel_. and he survived.

but in another world, he did not.

“kill me.”

he cannot. he _will not_. he crouches in front of the abyss and meets the celestial’s challenging gaze. the chaos threatens to lash out again, threatens to consume him. but he is stronger now.

“if you want to be released from this chaos,” he says, “then you must forgive yourself.”

for failing his mission. for losing his purpose. for allowing a perfect celestial existence to be corrupted by humanity.

the celestial looks up at him with those hollow eyes. they hold no emotion, no will, no _mercy_. these are the eyes of a broken celestial and they demand divine judgment.

he cannot give it to him.

let the one who is blameless cast the first stone.


	23. 36; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> it wasn’t Erblu’s fault. _it was his._

_“Apos, it hurts–”_

he barely hears the cry, because the blood rushing in his ears drowns it out. the form of light glows below him, flickers like spluttering fire.

it lives, but it should not.

_“Apos–”_

the wail is desperate, striking in his mind. the touch on his arms is searing chill; its energy pulsates with a purity he cannot accept.

all lights fade. all things become nothing. even this. _especially_ this.

_“Apos– can you hear me…?”_ it’s a quiet sob, and he blinks his eyes slowly. his vision swims with dark ribbons. _“it’s okay… it’s– okay. I know you’re not… doing this on purpose… Apos…”_

the voice speaks directly into his core, cuts through his chaos, folding like a warm blanket over him. he comes to, feels the stones in the ground grind into his knees, the chill of the forest wind wrapping around him. around _them_. below him, the celestial radiates a dim green light, looks up at him with hollow diamond eyes. a translucent fluid pools green at the edge of those eyes, drips down his pale cheeks.

Erblu.

Apos lets go and Erblu scrambles up, away from him. the marks of chaos is already blossoming dark blue against his white skin, the corrupted spears in his shoulder, his forearm, melting through his form like acid. Erblu grasps the puncture in his arm tightly with his hand, as his crystal wings hang behind him, crumpled and bent, each shard dissipating into sparkling light.

the glyph over his left eye radiates menacingly. haunting.

the tears fall freely from Erblu’s emotionless eyes and Apos only watches Erblu’s shuttering celestial form fragment into the ether.

_“Apos, let me…”_ Erblu breaks his gaze, looking away. his voice echoes into his mind again. _“let me change back…”_

Erblu closes his eyes, allows the heavenly glow to fade from his form. a gray spreads into the cold white-green of his hair, humanity warming the chill of his celestial white skin, but the dark scars on his arm, his shoulder, his hands, his neck remain.

“Apos.” a familiar call, but it’s rough, strangled. when Apos looks into those kind green eyes, Erblu smiles despite the tears. “I’m sorry I startled you like that. I won’t–” Erblu shakes his head. “–won’t do that again.”

something in Apos’s mind trembles. it wasn’t Erblu’s fault. _it wasn’t Erblu’s fault._ Erblu shivers like a torn leaf, but he inches closer to where Apos kneels. Apos retracts his hand before Erblu can touch it.

“Apos– it’s fine now.”

Apos draws back but Erblu doesn’t let him this time, wrapping his arms around him gently. Erblu’s human form is fractured, leaking wisps of divine energy that burn to ash in his chaotic aura. Erblu’s shaking from the effort of holding his human form. they’re both shaking.

“it’s fine now, see?” Erblu says gently, taking Apos’s hand in his. his tears still flow, but they’re clear like a human’s. “Apos, everything is fine.”

Apos only raises his other hand to Erblu’s neck, feels Erblu stiffen against his touch. he strokes his thumb along the blue-black bruise, traces his fingertip against the glowing blue lines. Apos feels something wet roll down his cheeks and Erblu reaches over to wipe away his tears.

“it’ll go away,” Erblu says softly. “I promise, Apos.”

Apos lowers his hand, lets himself be swept into Erblu’s embrace, as the surroundings fill with the healing crystal Eids, lets the soft hum of Erblu’s voice calm his mind.


	24. 37; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 37; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Apos has cat ears.

when Erblu returns to his room, he finds Apos curled up on the bed, resting on top of the neatly folded sheets. the curtains over the windows shift slightly with the wind and Erblu chuckles to himself. of course, Apos disappears before breakfast and comes back only after everyone else cleared out of the house.

Erblu crawls onto the bed and tucks a hand against Apos’s hair, stroking it gently. he blinks when he feels soft fur, blinking at the curve of a cat’s ear on Apos’s head. it’s silver, like the surface of his strands.

… _oh_.

another one twitches atop Apos’s head. when Erblu touches it curiously, Apos stirs, body instinctively wrapping around Erblu’s sitting form. a hollow green eye blinks open slowly, fixes on him unnervingly, but a cat ear shifts, presses against his fingers inquisitively. twitches. cutely.

“good morning, Apos,” Erblu smiles gently, resisting the urge to tackle the sleepy celestial into a hug. Erblu scratches at the back of Apos’s ear and Apos tilts his head, his eye winking closed at the sensation. Erblu feels himself melt inside. “does that feel good?”

Apos turns to gaze up at him blankly, before a tail, silver too, curves around Erblu’s waist, comes to rest on Erblu’s lap gently. Erblu cups one of Apos’s ears, brushing his thumb along the soft green fur of its interior. Apos closes his eyes, rubbing his head against his hand.

“more pets?” when Apos only blinks at him in confusion, Erblu smiles, cards his fingers through Apos’s hair, and flattens the cat ears playfully. “more pets then.”

Apos sits up slowly, lithe form pressed closely against Erblu’s. he nudges Erblu’s hand with his nose and Erblu only chuckles, wrapping his arms around Apos’s shoulders. Erblu brushes his fingers against an ear and Apos leans into the touch with a vibrating hum.

“do you like this?” Erblu asks, as Apos buries his face into his shoulder, his weight pushing Erblu down onto the bed. Erblu lets himself fall onto the sheets, as Apos curls up around him, wrapping his arms around the celestial, tail winding around one of Erblu’s legs. Erblu smiles, pulls him closer, his aura radiating with happiness. “would you do this again?”

“mm,” is the only sound Apos makes before he drifts comfortably, purring in contentment. Erblu only trails his fingers in Apos’s hair, lets the celestial snore lightly against him.

this was so worth spending a whole day hunting Kenaz firestones for Grail.


	25. 38; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 38; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Apos wants to see Arme's wings.

he sees them, the white wings in the aqua light.

pure, pristine, the folded, crisp feathers, well-kept. he wants to run his fingers along it, tickle it softly, let it shimmer with holy light. he wants to press his face against the softness, let the presence of the goddess cradle him once again. he wants to let them flutter over his hands, he wants to--

_tear them apart_

and he pulls himself back, his chaos thrumming in his mind. Arme notices him, but doesn’t turn, drawing his divine sword from his pendulum in caution. Apos holds his head tightly, closes his eyes-- anything to get his chaos to _stop_.

the divine energy starts to beat a little quieter in his mind, softer against his temple. his heart slows as traces of divinity caress him gently. Apos realizes only when Arme steps in front of him that Arme’s white wings have been folded away, his celestial aura disappearing from around his human form.

“what are you doing here, Apos?”

Apos has no one to blame but himself. but he does it anyway. “you left.”

“to recover energy.”

“you seemed tired.”

Arme sighs, crosses his arms. “I was. which is why I left.”

Apos lowers his hands to his lap, clenching the tattered cloth of his pants with his fingers. Arme only looks down upon him with those blue eyes. they’re empty as always, but ever attentive, probing.

so Apos asks. “are you done?”

“with?”

“I interrupted you.”

Arme quirks a brow. “if you’re here, I can’t continue.”

“I’ll move farther away. it won’t affect me as much then.” Apos looks up into Arme’s blue eyes, and then shifts his gaze to the space behind Arme’s shoulder. he imagines those white wings fluttering behind him. Arme continues to look at him in confused silence.

finally, Arme says, frowning, “I don’t understand what you want.”

“your wings--” and Apos stops there, turns away when Arme blinks. Apos can’t put a name to these emotions-- there’s too many tearing him apart.

“... to see them? you’ve seen them before.”

Arme doesn’t seem to understand. but of course he can’t. Arme exists so wholly within and of the goddess that he can’t understand what existence is like severed from her.

he stops himself. no.  _no_.

“fine.” the word pierces through his cloud and he looks up.

Arme raises his palm, lets the shimmering celestial cloak fall upon him once more. smooth white wings unfurl out behind him, and his eyes fade into cold celestial diamonds. but his skin doesn’t lighten into celestial white, his clothes don’t become shrouded with the goddess’s light, and his voice--

“like this?”

\-- remains calm, quiet. not an uninvited echo within his mind.

Arme’s still human, his wings surrounded by a dim aura. his form seeps with the cool tendrils of the goddess’s strength. Apos lets it cloak him, tickle his skin and the marks of Henir running along his arm. the divine presence of this form is soothing, comforting, _enough_.

it is Arme’s full celestial form, the pure embodiment of the absolute heavens, that Apos cannot touch. it is that form Arme will never show him.

Arme knows. too much will arouse his chaos.


	26. 39; arme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 39; Arme Thaumaturgy
> 
> this is his mission: to execute all those who dare corrupt the El.

“Ain, why did you...?”

he looks up, the turquoise teal in his eyes barely fazed, the heavy crystal projection heavy in his hands. there’s a note of surprise on Elsword’s face, a startled hesitation, and a hint of fear. Ain casts his eyes at the rotting demon corpse in front of them then closes his eyes in understanding. of course, regardless of race, humans feel sympathy for the dead. it is not Ain’s place to make Elsword understand otherwise.

“the manifestation of demons is an affront to the goddess,” he says simply, letting his weapon dissipate into glittering light, and unfurls the chain of his pendulum in his left hand. “as a priest,” he shrugs at the lie of the word. “I cannot allow them to exist.”

“that’s…” Elsword looks at the smoking demon, then at Ain, his eyes set in a challenge. “even if that demon didn’t do anything yet? even if they were innocent?”

the naivety. he supposes this is Elsword’s charm. “that is where you are wrong, Elsword. demons can never be innocent.”

-

they are too _slow_. the El light that crystallizes in his pendulum sparks and sputters, overwhelmed by the demonic haze of the chapel. the aura creeps against his skin, its darkness jarring his very core. it is Elsword’s voice that he hears before he steps away to bring about the judgment of Ishmael.

“Ain! don’t leave us again!”

_again_ \-- is the word that stops him. when Ain looks back, he sees Elsword brace his sword in defense against a glitter spearman.

but the onslaught of demons will not stop and their contamination of the El will not cease. if even he, a being made of the pure power of Ishmael, cannot stop them, then the demon invasion will end in this world’s destruction.

“Ain! where are you going?” Elsword calls him again, his voice piercing through his haze.

if he must recover his power, he must stay at Elsword’s side. he understands this. but that his existence relies upon the whim of a single human-- even upon one so in tune with the El-- it is unacceptable.

“Ain!”

he was created as an emissary of the goddess, a being whose sole purpose is to restore the El. in order to destroy the demons, he must become something more than just her vessel.

“Ain, promise you’ll come back!”

the last of the tiny El crystal in his pendulum shatters, releasing the final restraints on his power. the room shakes with the impact, the demons disintegrating with the pulse of wrath. a sword crystallizes in his hand, its glass-like form laced with pure light energy.

his diamond eyes glance at the broken pendulum. he closes his eyes, bracing a hand against his sword, and feeds the weapon the goddess’s pure divine power.

the power of the pendulum fades and his own power awakens.

-

“Ain! I thought it was you.”

Ain blinks open his eyes to see a red-haired knight smiling at him. it is Elsword, who looks a little older, a little more tired, and a little wiser than he had before. Ain furrows his brow. how did Elsword find him? “hello, Elsword.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Elsword says, and then when Ain doesn’t say anything, he continues, “did you change your hair or something?”

Ain pays little attention his physical appearance, but with his near unity with divine power, his human form has most likely transformed accordingly. “it may be the result of using the power of the goddess extensively.”

Elsword nods in faux understanding, but behind his confused red eyes are questions. Ain can read them, but he won’t answer them. he stands from the base of the tree, dusting off his white coat.

“will you be joining us again, Ain?” Elsword blurts out, before Ain can turn to walk away. “we’ll be crossing the sea to Hamel soon to request reinforcements for the Velder Army.”

Hamel, the capital of the Kingdom of Senace-- and the location of the Water El. the demon gate in Velder has been sealed away, so although the war is not over, the Earth El has been secured. there is nothing more he can do here.

Elsword’s smile falters when Ain doesn’t respond. “we’ve heard that Hamel is busy fighting demons too. I think we could use your help, Ain.”

Ain blinks, then realizes. Elsword cannot know whether there are demons in Hamel. Ain closes his eyes. of course. Elsword is worried. not about the demons, but about him.

but Elsword should not-- after all, Ain is simply the instrument of the Goddess and nothing more. though it appears that they have the same goal, Elsword is still human and still prone to trifling.

“Ain?” Elsword’s smile is sheepish, nervous. “well, if you have things you need to do, that’s f--”

“I am not opposed to joining you, Elsword.”


	27. 40; executor / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40; Lofty Executor / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> after all, it is the purest of lights that can become the most tainted.

“if you’re going to follow me, don’t fall behind.”

the words are ice cold and his gaze is as cutting, sharp. but then those eyes soften in a sigh. Executor grabs for his hand where they’re shaking in front of him and drags him along with him. Wander tries not to trip as the other celestial moves too quickly, too relentlessly through the forest of shadows.

does Executor feel it too? the heaviness weighing on their human forms? the dark El that rises as wisps in this darkness and cut at their cores? but Executor is too determined to be swayed– his will, for being a mere emissary of the goddess, pulses with irrational strength, immense power.

Wander looks down to where his hand is laced with corruption. remembers the fear and pain as he watched it stain his skin. remembers the repulsion with which Executor recoiled when he touched it. that’s why Executor will only hold his right hand now– it is the one that isn’t contaminated.

there’s a spark of light and Wander flinches instinctively. when he looks up, Executor has summoned an array of projection spears to surround them, eyes narrowed at the haunted souls possessed with dark El. the rage, the anger hums through the fragile crystal weapons, threatens to spill over, to shatter.

in this impenetrable darkness, Executor’s light is small, like the wick of a tiny candle in a lifeless expanse. but his wrath drives him onward and he pushes on recklessly to his own destruction.

so Wander forms his own weapons, tries not to shudder as the creeping strings of darkness taint his creations. but what better to fight chaos with his own chaos? sharp pain erupts with every piece of himself that he throws, impaling the monsters that rise from their shadows. but he needs to use his power in order to save Executor from his own.

… will it be enough?

“… when I find the fools that dare corrupt the El…”

Wander looks up as those cold eyes flicker divine blue, surveying the ashing remnants of souls deceased. there is no gentleness anymore in that blueness, only hatred, only single-minded fury.

is this why he was given the name Executor?

“are you…”

“I’m fine,” comes the reflexive snap, and then, for a moment, Wander sees fear in those eyes. and then, it’s gone.

perhaps he is wrong. Executor _is_ affected by the dark El. after all, it is the purest of light that can become the most tainted.

Executor turns away. “we’re leaving. unless you want to stay.”

Executor doesn’t give him a choice either way and takes his hand again, drags him forcefully out of the shadows. Wander stumbles as he follows, because every step only meets him with white flashes, terrifying pain, but Executor doesn’t let go.

Wander is glad. in this darkness, the only thing he can see is the small, stubborn light that is Executor.


	28. 41; executor / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 41; Lofty Executor (Arme Thaumaturgy) / Apostasia
> 
> somehow, Arme becomes Executor again. Apos… doesn’t mind at all.

Apos decides he won’t let go. he nestles his face into the soft bed of gray hair, tucks his arms around the celestial’s front. holds him closely, tightly. the butterfly of light flutters, fragile in his grasp.

“… Apos, let go.”

the voice is stern, pretends to be harsh. but there is a hesitation in his words.

what was his name? Executor. Arme’s previous incarnation. he’s weaker, his light so much smaller. Apos can sense the divine power of the goddess still, but it’s virulent, pulsing with uncontrolled wrath, the human vessel too tiny to contain it. and the _emotions_ , too, radiate, unfiltered. Apos can feel every crest of emotion tremble through his frame, every flinch of fear jolt through his spine. he can hear his heart beat loudly in that small cage.

Apos presses his nose into his neck, breathes in the crystal aura surrounding him. the goddess’s light shivers at the contact with his chaos. Arme would never show him his reactions, his emotions. Arme would never let him do this to him.

… well, he realizes with a slow blink, this _is_ still Arme. his physical form may have had its time turned back to when he was just a mere Executor of the goddess, but his memories have remained. and Executor hasn’t run away from him yet.

well, he thinks again, he probably _can’t_.

“Apos, let– _go_ already.”

he’s strangely satisfied by the thought. Apos rests his chin on the other’s shoulder affectionately and Executor starts to flounders helplessly in his grasp. Apos only curls his arms tighter, embracing the gentleness of goddess’s light, savors the vulnerable beat of his human heart. he’ll cherish it, this gift of time that was given to him.

eventually, Executor’s fear subsides into wary reluctance. he realizes probably, that though Apos has the power to hurt him, to _destroy_ him, he won’t. Arme knows this, which is why he tolerates Apos even though he won’t touch him. but Executor, Apos has discovered, he _can_ touch, _can_ hold. and the very least Executor can do is to allow him to.

Apos runs his fingers through the soft gray hair and Executor curls into himself a bit, protectively.

“I like this,” Apos says absently, twirling a strand of Executor’s hair around his hand, one of the long strands that frame his face. he wonders if he can convince Arme to keep them when he turns back to normal.

“well, enjoy it while it lasts,” Executor mutters, his words pointed with promise. 

Apos nuzzles him gently, unafraid of his implied threat. he feels Executor concede a little, relax in his arms. “I am.”


	29. 42; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 42; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> it’s like icicles along his back, the feeling he’s learned to dread.

it’s like icicles along his back, the feeling he’s learned to dread. when Arme returns, hours past nightfall. when Arme responds, just a second slower than usual. when Arme rests, and Erblu can see his form flickering in and out of existence.

but Erblu smiles anyway and Arme frowns, because he doesn’t understand the meaning of Erblu’s silence.

-

it’s a quiet mid-morning. Erblu’s crouched at the doorstep of Swordsmith Cats, petting a spotted gray cat that’s wandered in front of him, waiting for Hanna to repair the weapons he brought her. Hanna pauses where she’s tending the outdoor forge and laughs.

“aha, there he is. the little rascal.” Hanna catches the cat in her arms and runs her fingers through the fur on his neck. her smile grows concerned. “looks like he ran into something sharp again.”

“ah, he’s hurt?” Erblu hadn’t noticed, so he flicks his hand to summon a tiny Rein Eid, brings it up to the dirty wound in the cat’s fur.

“seems so. he loves playing in the woods out back, so sometimes he’ll come back hurt. when it storms, I’m afraid he won’t know how to come home at all.” when the cat meows and rubs his head against Erblu’s hand, Hanna smiles in appreciation. “thank you, Ain.”

“that… that feeling,” Erblu says suddenly. “can you explain it?”

“hm?”

“when you said, he won’t know how to come home. that emotion. how do you describe it?”

Hanna looks at him curiously, but the expression on Erblu’s face is sincere. “well, Ain. I’ve had a few cats disappear before, so when one doesn’t come back, I start to worry. what if they’re hurt? what if they wandered too far from home? what if… sometimes I’ll spend the night searching for them.”

Erblu touches Ashy with a gentle hand, and the cat rubs his whiskers against his fingers, purring softly. “what do you do if you can’t find them?”

Hanna smiles, but it’s not one that’s happy. Erblu stops petting the cat to look at it, to understand.

“Ain, there are a few things in life you can do very little about it.”

-

Erblu knows he didn’t wait long enough. the water that pours from the sky chills his skin, ice his bones. it makes his human body shake, but the patter of rain distracts him from the hammering of his heart, from the loudness of his thoughts.

he slides a bit, frantic in the mud. the storm continues like an onslaught, shutting out his senses. Erblu whips out a hand for Rein, lets its yellow light illuminate through the curtain of water, but it too drowns.

he watches as the light dies in his hands, trapping him in the darkness. Erblu closes his eyes, surrounds himself with his divinity, ascends to his celestial form. the water prickles his skin, but it’s no longer cold. the rain still silences his world, but it’s no longer deafening.

his emotions pulse within him violently, but he no longer feels them.

-

_“don’t worry, Ain. Arme will be fine.”_

_“but– but it’s raining.” celestials are beings of light– water dulls their abilities. and Arme has been lethargic, unusually drained the past few days too. Erblu paces, searches for a good human reason to ‘worry’. “it’s… dark. and it’s too cold to be outside right now.”_

_“come on, Ain, he’s not a cat,” Elsword says with a carefree laugh. “even if he reminds you of one all the time.”_

_but Erblu can’t laugh with him this time._

_“you don’t understand, Elsword,” Erblu says, voice raising. “with Arme, I’m afraid–”_

_and he stops dead in his tracks. Elsword only watches him with a concerned frown. “Ain?”_

_“I’m going.” Erblu turns around, slams the door open with the sheer force of El. the rain splashes across the threshold and Erblu gives Elsword a smile. “I’ll be back.”_

_“Ain, this isn’t the best idea– Ain!”_

-

when Erblu finds him, he doesn’t stop himself. when he flutters to the ground, footsteps light on the wet mud, Arme looks up, blank confusion in his blue eyes. but he’s clutching at his stomach tellingly, his hand infused with the purity of the goddess. Erblu murmurs in the language of the heavens and surrounds them with healing light, then unfurls, his celestial aura flickering out. he drops to his knees in front of Arme, his human body too heavy for him to hold up.

in the crevice where Arme sits, the rain no longer falls. when Arme touches his cheek with his free hand, Erblu can no longer deny that he’s crying.

“… you didn’t have to come for me, Erblu,” Arme says, furrowing his brow.

Erblu looks past his hand to sense the dark wound splintering across Arme’s stomach. dark El. – of course. nothing else cuts through light easier.

Erblu doesn’t know what to say, so he reaches for Arme’s hand, takes it in his curled fingers. he hangs his head, eyes still blurry with tears, his drenched clothes chilled by the hollow’s wind. Erblu panicked; what he did was irrational, impulsive, and unbefitting a celestial. Arme would have been fine; he can heal himself. so why–?

Arme pats him on the head hesitantly, but says nothing. so Erblu gives this emotion a name.

“… I was afraid.”

Arme blinks, pulls back his hand to look up at him.

Erblu tries to smile. “Arme, why do I feel like this?”

“because you accepted humanity, Erblu,” Arme says. it’s the answer Erblu expects from him, but not the answer Erblu’s looking for. “you welcomed these emotions.”

and he won’t abandon them. Erblu reaches out, places his hand on the one over Arme’s wound.

“Erblu, don’t.” Arme draws back, his voice stern. but he winces when the wound fragments open, and sighs. “the dark El is already affecting you.”

it’s not the dark El. but Erblu pulls away silently anyway. there’s a slow pitter-patter in the forest glade, rain cascading atop the forest leaves. he realizes his human body is trembling with the wind, overtaken by the cold, overcome by realization.

“I was afraid.” his voice is quiet, unlike himself, and it breaks. “I was afraid that you’d disappear, Arme.”

when Erblu looks up, there’s no emotion in Arme’s blue eyes. Erblu stiffens, bows his head in shame.

“we’re celestials, Erblu. we disappear after we complete our mission.” matter-of-fact, but there’s no judgment in his tone. a moment and then, Arme places a hand on on his head again, a solid, measured comfort. “so until I do, I won’t disappear.”

Erblu lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Arme doesn’t reject this. doesn’t reject him and his humanity, even though Arme has rejected his own.

Arme lowers his hand, watches him inquisitively, waiting for him to respond. Erblu smiles, and it feels fragile. he feels fragile. “… yea.”

the feeling doesn’t go away. the fear that swallows his relief, the loneliness that tinges his happiness, the sadness that sinks his core.

he understands now. Elsword was right. Arme is the only one who makes him feel this way. the rain that falls onto the world outside, the rain that falls inside his imperfect, incomplete human heart.

this is love.


	30. 43; arme / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 43; Arme Thaumaturgy / Lofty Wanderer (Apostasia)
> 
> somehow, Apos becomes Wander again. Arme’s not sure whether he likes Apos like this.
> 
> related: 41

the bundle is small, curled up in the sheets, shivering at the far corner of the bed. Arme blinks, once when he realizes the chaos swirling around the bundle is weaker than usual, and then a second time, when he reads the energy signature to be Apos’s.

Arme kneels on the bed, reaches over to pull the sheets off, but the ball curls up more, instinctively bowing away from his hand. Arme hears a familiar voice, but it’s tinged with anxiety.

“ah… Arme.”

Arme stares as nervous green eyes peek out from under the blankets. they’re more alive, though more afraid. they’re not the emotionless empty ones he’s usually trying to read.

“… Apos?”

the celestial doesn’t answer, drawing into himself, looking down at his hands. Arme does too, and he notices the celestial’s arms aren’t dyed deep blue. only the left arm is barely shaded by darkness, a light trace of Henir on the back of his left hand.

then it clicks. this is _Wanderer_. this is Apos before he resigned himself to the corruption of the void. Arme’s not sure how Apos reverted himself to his previous incarnation, and he’s not sure why it happened.

he’s not sure whether he likes Apos like this at all.

“… Arme… it hurts…”

Arme reaches over again only for the celestial to struggle away, movements tortured, shivering even more, if that is at all possible. there is a startled realization in those eyes and tears rolling down his cheeks, and Wander hiccups, buries his face into his knees.

“your aura hurts… I can’t…”

and Arme understands.

because this is still _Apos_. Apos who finds comfort in being around Arme, soaking in his divine power. and Apos who only derives unbearable pain from it now.

so Arme closes his eyes, forces himself to suppress his cloak of celestial energy. he tries again, pinches the sheet above Wander’s head to pull it away from his eyes. Arme sees the angry mark of Henir etched around Wander’s left eye, and with every thread of chaos that sparks from it, Wander cowers.

Arme decides he can’t just watch anymore.

Wander opens his eyes when he feels a solid comfort wrap around his shoulder. he touches his fingers to the fabric of the white coat, blinks, confused. Arme sits beside him, and Wander looks at him, before he shifts hesitantly into Arme’s calming presence.

“Arme…?”

Arme doesn’t answer. Wander takes his silence as permission to place his right hand shyly on Arme’s wrist. then Arme sighs, reaches around Wander’s shoulders to pull him closer. Wander blinks, eyes wide, and his heart flutters, before comes to rest his cheek against Arme’s shoulder.

Arme hears Wander’s heartbeat slow down, his breaths skipping in shuttering pain. eventually, Wander falls asleep, curled up at his side. comforted, satisfied, even though his body still trembles. Arme closes his eyes too, meditates in the silence.

Arme doesn’t need to ask, this time, whether this is enough. he knows it is.


	31. 44; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 44; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> these are emotions he’s felt only in passing before. ones he has no names for.

emotions.

he knows them. not very well, but enough to sort them into two distinct groups. there are the emotions that make him bloom, like his namesake, that makes it easier to smile, easier to laugh, in spite of all the lies he lives.

and then there are… these.

doubt. fear. sadness. despair. these he knows of by name. the ones that make it harder for him to smile, to laugh. the ones that pull him down, weighs down his core. he prefers his celestial distance to feeling them, prefers to deny their existence than to admit that he feels them like a human does.

but this– he can’t deny.

it oozes, rising from the ground like a nightmare of shadows. broken fragments, pieces of stained light, scattering like black ice along the tree roots. the gloom that feeds into his core, soaks into his being.

at its center, he feels a flicker of tainted light. – a celestial.

_a celestial_.

“you…” he hears a voice, hollow, from the shroud of darkness. “… why are you here?”

the eyes that watch him are a shallow green, unfeeling. he wants to step back, to run away, to deny this too, because these emotions–

these are emotions he’s felt only in passing before. ones he has no names for. it surrounds this being wholly, entirely, and it pulls at his core in ways that make his mind spin.

these are the emotions that belong to neither group. because these are the emotions he never wants to feel again.

he approaches, though his celestial senses recoil, because in that chaos, he feels a small emotion resonate.

_my goddess, do you still hear me?_

and he can’t stop himself from delving into that darkness. can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the fragmented being, embracing that shattered existence. can’t stop himself from crying out.

“she does, she does, _she does_ –”

because he knows, it’s an appeal he’s made once before.

he feels fingers curl against his back, limply, unknowing. “what are you doing?”

and he falters. “the goddess– she still…”

he looks again into those hollow green eyes, devoid of emotion, and realizes in those eyes, there is no understanding, no acknowledgment.

only hatred. only disgust. only _shame_. – not toward the goddess, but toward _himself_.

and he feels his heart break. celestials who lose faith in themselves lose their connection with the goddess. celestial who no longer believe in their existence can no longer hear the goddess. celestials who succumb to the fate called _Apos_ –

he can’t. he can’t say that word. to say this name means to resign and accept it. and this– he won’t accept. he closes his eyes, lets the chaos surround his flickering light, but his light flickers gold with the power of the El, blue with the power of the goddess, green with the power of his emotion.

he smiles, carefully. there is something he can do.

so he says, “there… there is more to existence than the mission you were given.”

“… there isn’t.”

“no, there is meaning in these emotions you have, the ones that humanity has given you. understand, it makes you human, and humans cannot be perfect.” he gathers that hand in his, the hand that falls apart in threads of chaos. maybe he’s crying, maybe he’s hurting, but he doesn’t care. “so forgive yourself. you didn’t fail the goddess. your emotions failed you.”

there is a flicker of light in those eyes, and an emotion– a tiny hope. so he continues, emboldened, “the name I was given is the same as yours– _Ainchase Ishmael_. so too is the mission I was given. but unlike you, my emotions gave me my power and my name. _Erbluhen Emotion_.”

those green eyes, somehow beneath those layers of distance, understands. the voice is quiet, thoughtful, because the celestial still remembers the language of the heavens. “… blooming.”

“let me show you what I mean,” he says, smiling gently, touches the wandering chaos gently with a finger, and the celestial’s gaze follows it. it appears in his hand: an Eid of courage, an Eid of purity, and then an Eid of will. “let me show you another side of humanity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the notes on 29:
>
>> celestials are created by the goddess to fulfill a purpose, with no will, no emotion, and no conscience of their own. the goddess is omnipresent within each celestial and moves them, similar to how she moves the El Lady– celestials are mere extensions of her grace.
>> 
>> _Ain is the exception to this rule_. … because he needed to adopt a human form to fulfill his mission, he also receives the ability to behave, act, and feel emotions like a human does. he tries to keep his existence as a human separate from his existence as a celestial, but emotions are incredibly potent, _especially for an existence not meant to have them_.
> 
> because he wasn’t part of that piece, I left out Apostasia’s side, even though he was how I decided this headcanon in the first place. so here it is:
> 
> the goddess didn’t abandon _Apostasia_. _she couldn’t have_. as a celestial, he is but an extension of her, and she is a constant ever-present part of him. when he wandered Henir for five hundred years, he did not fall to corruption, because he was so dedicated to his purpose, so desperate to fulfill it. it’s when he leaves Henir, when he adopts a human form, that he’s plagued by doubt and anxiety– _human emotions_. he loses faith in the goddess because _he loses faith in himself_. and because he no longer believes in himself, or in his purpose for existence, the goddess cannot intervene to save him. in his panic, in his chaos, in the storm of his emotions, the foundation of everything he’s known crumbles out from under him and he comes to know only emptiness.


	32. 45; (restoration!au) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 45; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (restoration!au: after the El is restored, Erblu starts living as a human, with no memories of his celestial existence. Arme, having fulfilled his own mission, chooses to join him.) Erblu paints a memory of wings. but he shouldn’t have remembered.
> 
> sequel to 29

it felt too real to be a dream.

falling down the cliffside. reaching out his hands as he slipped. his arms raw, bloodied, and bruised. Arme said he had tripped while exploring the bluffs of Velder and had knocked himself out. but when Erblu asked him if he had pulled him out of the ravine, Arme only looked at him, confused.

“when I found you, you weren’t in the ravine.”

so Erblu let it go.

-

they sit in the meadows at the outskirts of Velder. his pencil stops when the wind does and Erblu pauses to look at his sketch. he let his hand take him where it wanted to go, but it’s there, like an ephemeral trace, a floating being with wings. it fills him with nostalgia and with restlessness, but when Arme notices, Erblu lets a smile spread across his lips.

Arme’s brows furrow. “Erblu?”

Erblu places his pencil down into the grass, turns his sketchbook to show it to him. “have you ever thought of having wings, Arme?”

“no.” then Arme pauses, gives it some thought. “though it might be useful in combat.”

and Erblu laughs, runs his fingers through Arme’s gray hair. “stop thinking about fighting all the time, Arme. it’s your day off. relax and live a little.”

Arme doesn’t answer, sinks back down to rest on Erblu’s lap. Erblu pulls out the pastels from his bag, then stops, stowing them away again. Arme looks at him in curiosity, but Erblu only shakes his head, turns the page in his sketchbook.

Erblu smiles when Arme frowns. “it’s nothing, Arme.”

-

Erblu spends the next morning gathering supplies. he rarely spends money on any of his projects, usually asking the villagers if they have unused materials, but he feels, for this, he should. Helen gives him a soft smile as he picks through the selection of canvas fabric and asks him if he wants a few paints with it. Erblu nods, picks out a spectrum of blues and a golden yellow, and thanks her.

Erblu wonders, as he’s assembling the canvas in his room, why he’s doing this. perhaps, because a small sketch won’t do it justice. perhaps, because pastels won’t capture its ethereal brilliance.

perhaps, because he wants to see it stand before him.

so he draws, the flow of the El dancing around him, the image in his mind onto the pristine white canvas. fluttering wings on a form that radiates power. an image he knows he’s never seen that has been imprinted into his mind.

Erblu doesn’t remember, but he feels, this time, he needs to.

-

Erblu hears a knock on the door, stirring him from his concentration. he blinks, noticing the dim light coming in from the window, splashing his painting with the pink golds of the sunset.

“Erblu!” Hanna calls, knocking again.

Erblu places his paintbrush down onto the wooden stool beside him and stretches. feels a few bones crack, strain. he spares a glance at his room, cut cloth and spare paper strewn across the floor, water and paints splashed onto the floor at the foot of the painting.

“take care of him, Arme,” he hears Hanna chuckle.

when Erblu opens the door, he finds Arme standing there, looking down the hall as Hanna returns to the parlor. Arme’s still in his training uniform, red-white with the colors of Velder, his sword tucked at his side, its winged chain glinting silver. there’s a few daggers tucked in his belt and a leather bag crumpled in his hand.

Erblu smiles gently when Arme finally turns toward him, blinking blankly. Erblu waits patiently for an explanation and after a moment of stubbornness, Arme reluctantly gives it to him.

“you didn’t stop by the camp today.”

so Arme missed him. Erblu’s smile widens. “I was painting.”

“yourself?” Arme quirks a brow at the sight of his paint-splattered clothes.

Erblu rolls his eyes, but takes Arme by the hand. “come, look.”

Arme tries not to trip over the materials scattered across the room as Erblu pulls him to the center, stopping in front of the large canvas propped up against the wall. “it’s not finished, but…”

on the canvas is the being from his memories. three distinct sets of white wings flutter out from the its shoulders, its whole form shimmering with a cool aqua glow. its white coat bellows in the breeze and the sword it holds is like glass– a light blue, lance-like. the oils are still drying, gleaming in the dim twilight.

Arme stares at it, silent. Erblu smiles, waits for his reaction.

“it’s your sketch from yesterday,” Arme says quietly. his hand extends outward, fingers tracing the air above the lance held in a pale white hand.

“mhm, I wanted to paint it instead. I felt like it deserved this much.” Erblu lowers his eyes, and it, in the back of his mind, stirs. “hey, Arme. what do you think about it?”

Arme says nothing, lowering his hand to his side. he closes his eyes, curls his fingers around the winged chain of his sword. a crystal blue light spills outward, shrouding him in a glowing aura, white wings unfurling out from behind him. his eyes open into icy diamonds and the power that surrounds him reminds Erblu of–

ah, Erblu remembers, the memories returning like a warm breeze. the goddess.

and Erblu smiles, his hand reaching out to clasp Arme’s. the white hand is cool to the touch and resonates with divine power. he brings it to his cheek and hums. “mm, you’re right, Arme. the real thing is better.”

Arme’s expression is unreadable, but his voice echoes directly into his mind. “ _you shouldn’t have remembered_.”

“well, you shouldn’t have showed me your celestial form either,” Erblu says, eyes sparkling in mischief. “so whose fault is it really?”

“ _stop falling into ravines then_.”

Erblu pouts and lets go of his hand. it falls limply to Arme’s side. Erblu wraps his arms around the celestial, tucks his hands under Arme’s wings. Arme blinks slowly, but doesn’t push him away. “you have to take risks to experience amazing things, Arme.”

“ _you’re human, Erblu. you don’t have wings anymore_.” it’s a blunt statement, and Erblu can’t help but flinch. “ _you don’t have the power to protect yourself either._ ”

“I know, Arme,” Erblu says quietly, pressing his face into Arme’s shoulder. his fingers grasp the glowing form, but the cloth of his coat is soft like feathers, fragile like light. it feels like Arme can just slip from existence.

Arme pauses, before he says, “ _… my human self was worried, Erblu._ ”

“ _you_ were worried, Arme,” Erblu corrects gently and releases a sigh. after all this time, Arme still insists that his two selves are separate. “your human self is still _you_.”

Arme doesn’t answer. Erblu holds him tighter, but Arme doesn’t react to that either. it’s like holding an illusion created from his dreams. but Erblu knows, this isn’t a dream.

“you disappeared so quickly, Arme,” Erblu sighs. his voice crumbles, and he pulls away to look the celestial in the eye. Arme glances away and Erblu brings a hand to brush at the light blue of Arme’s hair, blue, of the goddess. “you could have at least said something to me.”

“ _I didn’t feel the need to_.” it’s cold, sharp, and Erblu knows Arme can’t help it. but the knowledge doesn’t stop it from hurting. “ _you’d have forgotten anyway_.”

“but I didn’t.” Erblu drops his hand to his side, curling his fingers into his palm. “Arme, if the goddess didn’t intend it, then why do my memories return whenever I see you like this? if I had really lost my memories, how could I have painted this image of _you_?”

Arme says nothing. does nothing. and Erblu sighs. he lets it go. this precious little time he has with these memories, he’ll cherish them. he lets Arme’s aura wrap around him, surround him– he’s missed this, the comforting presence of the goddess. but he’s human now, no longer bound to the goddess. he’s no longer a celestial.

but Arme still is.

“ _you want something from me that you can’t get from my human self_ ,” Arme says finally. he’s looking at the painting again, celestial blue eyes set in blank gaze. “ _what is it?_ ”

Erblu smiles. this part of Arme has never changed; human or celestial, Arme always knows.

“I… just wanted to ask,” Erblu says, grasping for one of Arme’s hands, folds their fingers together. Arme blinks, turns to fix his eyes on him. “if you are still a celestial… then why are you here?”

there’s no hesitation in his answer. “ _to be with you_.”

Erblu laughs, a little. “is that your mission now? the goddess asked you to babysit her silly little creation?”

“ _no_.” and then, Arme explains. “ _the goddess no longer has command over me. she gave me my power to use as I see fit and… told me to find what it was that my human heart wanted._ ”

Erblu blinks. “… and what was that?”

Arme looks at him with those cold crystal eyes. “ _you_.”

Erblu feels an ache pour into his heart and he lowers his head. Arme reaches up, brushes a tear away from his eyes with a finger.

“ah, look at me, getting all sentimental,” Erblu says, chuckling, even as he wipes another tear with the back of his hand. “stupid human emotions.”

“ _are you…?_ ” and Arme’s voice trails. searching. for something he can’t find, can’t recognize, as a celestial. Erblu’s smile softens; Arme as a celestial has always been confused by humanity.

so Erblu curls his arms around Arme and asks, “hold me, Arme? please?”

it takes a moment, but Arme brings his arms around his trembling form slowly, unsure. Erblu tugs him closer, rests his forehead against Arme’s shoulder.

“ _my human self would be better at this, Erblu. if that’s all, then I’ll…_ ”

Erblu pauses, closes his eyes. “that… that’s all, Arme. that’s all I wanted to know.”

“ _… alright, Erblu._ ”

the hum of the celestial energy fades like a dying flame. Erblu feels arms wrap around him, comfortingly, soothingly. there’s a gentle kiss against his forehead and a warm embrace, until finally he releases his past.

Erblu wakes, blinking open his eyes to find Arme holding him, watching him with concern. Erblu only pulls him closer, feels Arme nudge his cheek with his nose. he floats, basking in Arme’s shy, but attentive touches.

“have you eaten, Erblu?” Arme asks. of course it’s the first thing he asks– it always is. Erblu whines and buries his face into his shoulder when Arme tries to push him away. “I knew it. you haven’t eaten at all today, have you?”

“can I have you instead, Arme?” Erblu mumbles into his shoulder, his fingers grasping at Arme’s solid presence. “your love is all I need.”

“you still need to eat something, Erblu,” Arme sighs. he pulls away just enough to press the leather bag into Erblu’s hands. “here, I brought this for you.”

Erblu blinks, but unwraps it. there’s a few neatly labeled packages of bread and cooked meat, dated for today’s consumption. he can’t help but laugh. “rations, Arme? I’m so glad the Knights take such good care of you, because you’d probably die of starvation otherwise.”

Arme looks away, not meeting his eyes, and Erblu smiles fondly. Arme’s cute when he’s embarrassed. “I… didn’t think Hanna would let me touch the stove again.”

Erblu tries not to laugh. “let’s heat it up. at the very least, Hanna trusts me enough not to burn the house down. come, Arme.”

but Arme doesn’t, not immediately, even as Erblu pulls his hand. when Erblu turns to him, Arme’s looking at him with concern.

“are you alright, Erblu?” Arme asks, his blue eyes searching his. “you’ve been acting strange all week.”

has he? maybe he has been. Erblu glances at the painting, the figure of a being that glows with light. somehow, the fluttering feeling in his chest has subsided, and a feeling of comfort blooms in its place. he remembers, vaguely, it’s like a ghost of a memory.

“Arme,” Erblu says, and he feels the El rise, embrace him softly. “… you’ll stay with me, right?”

Arme’s hand tightens around Erblu’s. his words are firm.

“I will. for as long as you want me to.”

“then,” and Erblu smiles, touches his hand to Arme’s head kindly, curls his fingers against his hair. “will you stay with me forever?”

Arme looks at him blankly. “but we won’t live forever, Erblu.”

and Erblu laughs, pulls Arme into a tight hug. Arme pauses for a moment before wrapping his arms around him in return.

“why do you always kill the mood, Arme? I was just trying to be romantic.”

“it sounded ridiculous to me.”

“Arme, _please_.”

-

“it looks beautiful, Erblu,” Hanna says with an awed smile, as she observes the finished painting. Erblu wipes his hands clean with a towel, but it only smears the paint over his hand. he spies one of the cats wrapping herself around a tin of paint and picks her up before she decides to do anything funny.

Hanna hums. “it looks like an angel.”

“it’s not an angel,” Erblu says quickly and Hanna blinks. “it’s a…” and Erblu tries to grasp for the words. it comes to him in confusing clarity. “it’s a celestial.”

“a celestial? what’s that?”

Erblu doesn’t have to think; the meaning is written into his very being. “a celestial is one with the gods.”

“the goddess, you mean?” Hanna asks with a kind smile. “Ishmael. like an angel from Ishmael?”

“…no,” Erblu says thoughtfully, runs a finger along Minky’s forehead, looks up at the glowing figure. “I mean what I said. it’s a celestial. a god.”

Hanna chuckles. “you’re always a strange one, Erblu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **lore!headcanon** :
> 
> angels are celestials, but not all celestials are angels. angels are the mouthpieces of the gods, created as messengers to the humans. it’s why humans actually know of angels, because they’re the only celestials allowed to reveal themselves to humans.
> 
> celestials are emissaries of the gods; they are created for a specific purpose. angels fall under this umbrella. Ain is a celestial created for the specific purpose to restore the El, but he’s not a messenger, not an angel.
> 
> per this definition, Arme is not technically a celestial anymore in this au; he’s already fulfilled his purpose, but because of the strength of his will, he continues to exist as member of the heavenly race. the closest descriptor heaven has for an existence like him is “god”-- and gods can’t rule each other. hence, Ishmael tells him to do what he wants.
> 
> anyway, this is my second one-shot in this au. I guess I’ll call it um… the restoration!au, because they’ve restored the El. I wanted to post the au background back with [29](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/157194681915/29), but I wanted to wait until I actually wrote something.
> 
>  **restoration!au** :
> 
>  _Erblu_ is a craftsman and artist. he stays with Hanna and helps her by running errands and taking care of her cats. he no longer remembers his life as a celestial nor does he have access to the goddess’s divine power, so he can’t use his Eid anymore. he will often reference his Eids obliquely, but he’ll have no idea where it comes from. (he’ll brush it off as something he knew in his previous life, half-jokingly, but it’s true.) if he became a mage, he’d be a rather potent one still, with a unique command over El, but the world is peaceful now and he is tired of fighting. he hangs out with Noel, singing with him and his music, and when he dances, the El dances with him.
> 
>  _Arme_ is the second-in-command of the Red Knights at Velder, under Vanessa. (you really think he’d be able to stop fighting? think again.) he’s in charge of conducting drills and training recruits and he’s infamous for throwing knives at slackers with intimidating accuracy. the sword he has at his side is the key to his celestial power, but as a human, he only knows that it’s incredibly important, unaware that it holds the power of the gods. through it, he still has access to his celestial powers (it’s his; it was never taken away), but because his human self is oblivious to the concept of the celestial, he doesn’t retain any memories of his celestial existence.
> 
> human!Arme also has gray hair, because his human self is completely separate from his celestial self now. and also because I imagined it and wanted it.


	33. 46; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 46; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Apos wants Arme to stay.

he doesn’t bleed so much as shatter around it. like cracks in broken ice, black lines spread like webs in his white skin, outward from the corrupted spears. Arme looks up into emotionless green eyes, his own blue indifferent, uncaring.

if this is how Apos copes with his broken existence, then he can have it.

Apos’s fingers, black and cold, come to cup Arme’s cheek. it’s uncharacteristically gentle, delicate, and Arme tries not to flinch as the chill seeps into his form. Apos touches the spear pinning Arme’s shoulder to the tree, then grasps the spear in his stomach. pushes it in further. Arme feels his human body creak in agony and he closes his eyes.

“why…” Apos’s voice is quiet, low, like whispering sand. “... do you try so hard?”

it’s always that question. when Apos finds him, weakened, nursing his injuries. when Apos runs him through with those black spears and holds him down. when Apos keeps him here, keeps him from running away.

but Arme wouldn’t have run anyway.

Apos leans in and places his head upon Arme’s shoulder. the touch is as sharp as glass and Arme breathes, clenches his fingers into his hand, around the spear impaling his palm.

“the existence of this world will become nothing. your existence will become nothing,” Apos says, the words haunting chill against his skin. “so why… do you still _try_?”

nothing Arme says will satisfy him. Apos asks this every time he finds Arme, form fading, energy exhausted. a celestial drained of power is nothing but light, and it is only Arme’s will that allows it to radiate through the darkness.

Arme knows what Apos wants. he can’t give it to him.

“because celestials cannot exist without a purpose,” Arme says. and Apos only tilts his head, hair crinkling against Arme’s shoulder. “even if that purpose seems useless to you.”

Apos wrap his arms around him, feels the spears pinning him down slowly melt into wisping shade, melt into him like acid. “even if it will all come to nothing?”

“existence has meaning in and of itself,” Arme says. “we exist. until we disappear, we _exist_.”

Apos hums into his shoulder, still clutching him tightly, his presence remaining a suffocating weight over him.

“so what do you choose to do with this existence?” Arme continues on, even though he knows Apos won’t listen. “I’ve chosen to create meaning from the purpose I was given. because there is nothing else for us beside our mission.”

Apos grasps him tighter. it’s a long moment before he says simply, “you try too hard.”

Arme sighs. “I choose to.”

Apos says nothing, only slumps into Arme’s weak celestial aura. the spears are gone now, but the shroud of chaos around them is paralyzing, debilitating, despairing. Arme looks at his hands, at the darkness leaking into his skin, and feels his core resonate, fragile, erratic in his body. the strain wells up in his eyes.

Arme can’t tolerate this anymore. he moves his hand to Apos’s shoulder, curls his fingers weakly.

“let go. Apos.”

Apos lifts his head slowly, his hollow green eyes flickering like twilight. but Apos pulls away, shifting until he’s kneeling in front of Arme, hands curled on his knees. Arme rests himself against the tree and struggles to stand, his body screaming silently in pain.

Apos isn’t looking at him anymore, his emotions rioting in the empty space. Arme closes his eyes, lets a shimmering healing aura coat his fracturing form like a salve. with the last of his energy, Arme unfurls his white wings behind him, watches his projection energy stutter alive in his fragmented palm.

“don’t follow me,” Arme says, words dispassionate. “this form won’t endure this a second time.”

and Apos looks up, his green eyes unfeeling. in the gap of silence is reluctant understanding, and then Apos looks away, says nothing.

Arme knows what it is that Apos wants. he can see it in his eyes consumed by the void.

but Arme can’t stay.


	34. 47; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> he still considers him a being worthy of a name.

the celestial follows him, tirelessly. jumps, like a fae, over the smoldering ruins of forests ravaged by raw chaos. so surrounded by an aura of radiant light, that when he touches upon the land, it hums with a refrain of the past. and _lives_.

Apos doesn’t understand– doesn’t stop to understand. he only knows his hands itch, his chaos– his _self_ – coursing rampantly into his broken pendulum. when the darkness scatters like petals of ash, the celestial of blooming emotion merely looks through it, to him, and smiles, faint, like the soft lights dancing around him.

how can he still follow?

_how can he still smile?_

Apos turns away.

the moon is high in the sky when Apos collapses into the shadow of a shattered tree. even a reflection of light burns through him. he folds into himself, his energy exhausted, his chaos depleted, a beat like soundless echos pulsing within his hollow body. he senses the divine energy land in the space in front of him, hears a gentle voice.

“Apos, you can stop now.”

he won’t. he can’t. the power that flows uncontrollably from him is the power that flows from Henir, and its sole desire is to see the creation of Elia succumb to the void. he has no choice– he who has fallen to _Apostasia_ is merely a catalyst for its will.

but Erblu doesn’t understand. Erblu thinks he can still be saved.

“Apos,” and Erblu reaches over to trace his fingers through his hair. his soft green eyes are caring and Apos doesn’t let himself believe it. but Erblu says again, “stop.”

“why?”

“because you’re only hurting yourself.”

Apos gazes at him blankly, but Erblu smiles, undeterred. Erblu curls his hands against Apos’s back and places his face against his head, in a steady embrace.

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself, Apos. you need to rest.”

Apos doesn’t understand.

doesn’t understand this name Erblu’s given him. doesn’t understand this emotion that Erblu shows him. all the things he’s done to destroy the light in his eyes– and yet here is Erblu, who is _himself_ and a celestial, who, in spite of all this, considers him something more than just an empty shell.

he still considers him a being worthy of a _name_ – ‘Apos.’

“why are you still…”

“because–” and Erblu places a hand cautiously over Apos’s chest, fingers just tracing the air above the pulsing chaos imprinted into his core. it twinges at the heavenly aura, unravels in threads, threatens to consume the trace of warmth. “this emotion that you feel, do you know what it is?”

Apos doesn’t answer, but Erblu raises a finger to Apos’s eye to touch a tear of deep green.

“it’s sadness, Apos. an infinite, unyielding sadness.”

and Apos feels something, a _something_ that should no longer exist, crumble inside of him. Erblu grasps him tightly as Apos trembles, his eye– _that_ eye– twitching in resistance.

“rest, Apos,” and Erblu presses his lips against his forehead. “rest.”

Apos closes his eyes slowly, his fingers clenching into his palm. finally, completely, surrendering to Erblu’s kindness.

“and I’ll say it again, even if won’t understand,” Erblu says, and his words are soothing, comforting, undeserved gifts. “I’ll forgive you, even if you won’t forgive yourself. I’ll love you, even if you won’t love yourself.”

because only by his grace can he be saved.


	35. 48; (angel!au) arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 48; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapon technology company. Apos is his bodyguard. Apos doesn’t really know why, but if it means he gets to spend all his time with Arme, Apos won’t complain.) Apos disagrees with Arme on one thing.

sharp is probably the best word to describe Arme. it’s the way he looks– crisp white shirt, fitted navy suit, and bright teal tie. his blue eyes cut like the crystal blades he wields, effortlessly. it’s the way he acts– quick, decisive, and as precise and exact with his words as he is with his aim. it’s a presentation on all fronts, but none of it is a lie, none of it _pretends_. because this is who Arme _is_. intimidation is his modus operandi.

wasted effort, Apos thinks. weapons are made to kill. but it’s Arme, so he doesn’t mind.

Apos is standing just behind Arme’s desk, hands hanging limply at his side, his hollow green eyes set in a singular stare. Arme is resting against the front of his desk, his back against the glass tabletop, arms crossed, leveling the visitor a similar gaze. the man, slightly rotund and dressed in foreign garb, stands in the center of the office, gesticulating widely with his hands.

in anger, Apos notes, feeling a flicker of irritation stir within him. he shifts restlessly on his feet, shifts his gaze away for a moment; his shoes are starting to get uncomfortable.

“… this is completely unacceptable. _Sander’s Arms_ can _not_ afford to lose customers due your incompetent quality control…”

Apos doesn’t bother listening. after all, Arme isn’t paying attention either. Apos watches absently as Arme pick up one of the dagger prototypes on his desk and starts to twirl it in his left hand. idly. the beads of sweat collecting at the man’s forehead slowly increases, but he continues to drone, voice grating, low.

it rubs against the tiny kink in his nerves.

when Apos snaps out his own knife from the cuff of his sleeve, Arme straightens up, brushes at his suit with his free hand.

“Dafarr,” Arme interrupts, his gaze dismissive. “is it?”

Arme’s still spinning the knife between his fingers. when Dafarr looks like he’s about to rant again, Arme throws it at the wall to his side, hitting the target dead center. the frames on the wall rattle with the impact and it does a good job of shutting the man up.

“at Arme Thaumaturgy, we take pride in the efficacy and quality of our weapons. it is with intention that our _angel_ weapons shatter with repeated blunt impact,” Arme says coolly, his soft but stern voice like a comforting balm to his soul. Apos closes his eyes to listen to it, to savor it. “I will forward your concerns to our marketing division. in the future, please refrain from purchasing weapons that do not suit your customers’ needs.”

Dafarr swallows nervously as Arme picks up another knife from his desk.

“do you have any questions?”

with a thunk, this knife also hits home, sliding in next to the first. Apos looks at it thoughtfully then shifts his eyes to fix onto Dafarr, who’s now stiff.

“… no.”

“good,” Arme says, picking through the rest of the knives on his desk. there’s no trace of emotion in his voice. “then we’re done.”

when the door closes behind Dafarr, Apos kicks his shoes off and under Arme’s desk, sinks his bare feet into the carpet. when he circles the desk to stand in front of Arme, Arme inches back to lean against the table, his calm blue eyes shifting to the crystal blade in Apos’s hand.

“put that away, Apos.”

Apos obeys, stows his knife, and tucks his arms around Arme’s waist. Arme readjusts the loosened tie around Apos’s neck, as Apos leans into Arme, listens to the beating of his heart, a constant rhythm that takes the edge off. Apos says, voice whisper soft, “should have silenced him.”

Arme sighs. “murder is not a productive business strategy, Apos.”

“but weapons are wasted on intimidation.”

Arme raises a hand to Apos’s head, tucks a stray piece of his hair behind his ear neatly. Apos nudges his cheek into his palm, sliding his eyes open slowly to see Arme’s careful blue eyes. “trust me, if violence was an option, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **angel!au** (one day this au title will make sense):
> 
> _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of a weapons technology company of the same name. literally _weapon maker_. no one knows much about him except that he was a government operative before his signature _angel_ weapons took the underground by storm. 
> 
> _Apos_ is just Apos. he recognizes no other name. he’s technically Arme’s bodyguard, but his training is actually in assassination. he has a hard time thinking about doing anything but, which is why Arme keeps Apos around him constantly. Apos comes off as soulless and terrifying, and Arme’s the only person who isn’t afraid of him. all Apos wants are hugs from Arme.


	36. 49; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 49; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Apos comes to Erblu when he wants to be healed.

Erblu senses Apos before he sees him. Apos’s aura simmers like a coiling mass, unlike a human’s presence, unlike his own celestial aura, unlike anything else in this world. it reminds him of the chaos in the abyss, and if Erblu hadn’t tried to understand him, he’d be afraid of Apos too.

but right now, it’s tepid, weak. folding space slowly like it’s heavy fabric. Erblu knows, Apos wouldn’t come to him if it was too dangerous for him. Erblu clicks opens the door to his room, peeks in to see Apos perched upon the windowsill outside. pauses.

Apos isn’t in his human form.

Apos’s aura twitches slightly, sensing him, flecks of light mingling with the pulsing abyss. Apos’s hair is brushed back, bright white, his skin is pale where it was human, pitch where it was deep blue. Apos turns, fixes an empty gaze on him, his diamond eyes black. the glyphs engraved into his forehead sear with power.

Apos’s celestial form. Erblu knows it as that, even though Apos refuses to call himself one. Erblu sees it only when Apos can’t control his chaos, when Apos is running stubbornly away from him, Henir glyphs arched behind him like wings.

this time, his wings aren’t there. this time, he isn’t running away. Apos is here to visit him– and the thought fills him with happiness. Erblu walks toward him, unlatches the lock, and pushes the window open. he leans out, offers him a kind smile, and Apos stares back at him, unmoving.

“come on, Apos,” Erblu laughs, reaching out to grab his hand. “come inside.”

Erblu feels the coolness of his skin, before pulling him into the room. Apos lands lightly on the wooden floorboards, his white hair fluttering down behind him.

“you know,” Erblu says, folding his fingers around Apos’s celestial ones. “you could have taken the front door. no one is going to tell you no.”

after all, with how intimidating Apos is, Erblu would be surprised if anyone dares to.

Apos doesn’t say anything, only lowering his gaze. lets Erblu rub his fingers in an attempt to warm them. it took a long time for Erblu to convince Apos to come to him whenever he wanted; it would take even longer to convince Apos to actually interact with anyone else, even if Apos knew another version of them from his own world. – but Erblu can’t be sure. he doesn’t know much about Apos’s world. hasn’t asked. not sure if he wants to.

Erblu wraps his arms around his back, secures Apos in a hug. he feels Apos stiffen, then relax, eventually resting his face against Erblu’s shoulder. he feels the icy energy fade away slowly, like the ebb and flow of the tide, cautiously, reluctantly and then all at once, the light around him blinking out. his gray hair falls against Erblu’s shoulder and his skin regains its color, pale stained with Henir’s blue.

Erblu blinks when Apos’s breath hitches. he’s about to pull away when Apos brings his arms around him to grasp him tightly, the aura surrounding him contorting in knots.

Erblu’s gaze softens. after all, if there’s a reason that Apos came to see him, it would be this. Erblu rubs his hands along Apos’s back, in comfort. “Apos, are you hurt?”

Apos doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. Erblu’s fingers runs into a gap in Apos’s back and Apos flinches. Erblu widens his eyes, retracting his hand away immediately. half of Apos’s side is gone, dissipated into nothingness, threads of chaos sizzling along its fragmented edges, slowly stitching his human form back together.

Erblu has to stop himself from summoning his Rein. the last time Apos came into contact with his goddess-infused energy– Erblu doesn’t want think about it. but Apos is trembling, clinging onto him desperately, so Erblu gathers him up in his arms, brushes through his hair soothingly. because this is the only thing Erblu can do for him.

“I’m here, Apos,” Erblu says quietly, presses a light kiss against Apos’s hair. “I’m here for you.”

and Apos nudges him back, takes his words, accepts his touch. Erblu holds him steadily, watches as the strands of darkness weave over the fracture. his new skin fades into an eerie deep blue, radiates with corrupted energy.

this is how Apos heals himself. when his form shatters, Apos relies on his chaos to put him back together. his arms, his legs, and even small scratches like the one on his face. but even though Apos’s existence has become synonymous with the void, the way the chaos heals him still brings him pain.

Erblu closes his eyes, starts to hum, a soothing melody from his soul. Apos’s grip loosens slowly until he relaxes fully into Erblu’s embrace. Erblu threads his fingers through Apos’s strands, before pressing his lips gently against Apos’s forehead.

when Apos finally calms, Erblu leads him carefully toward the bed. Erblu lays Apos down and tucks himself under the covers along side him. Apos nestles into his chest, breathing softly in rest.

Erblu smiles, holds Apos close, and closes his eyes, finally, lets his Eid bloom.


	37. 50; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> celestials don’t bleed. they fragment.

the moment Arme walks in he notices something is amiss. it takes him a moment to realize it’s because Erblu hasn’t jumped him yet. when he peers into the parlor, Arme can’t find him. Erblu usually hangs around the fireplace with the others after dinnertime, and it’s still well before dark.

“Arme!” Elsword calls, jumps off the couch to approach him, where he’s pondering at the entrance of the parlor. there’s a worried smile on Elsword’s face. “Ain’s up in his room, if you’re looking for him. could you–”

Arme pauses when Elsword stops and doesn’t continue. so he turns to look at him. “yes, Elsword?”

Elsword scratches the back of his neck. “um, could you make sure he’s alright? he freaked out a little earlier and uh, kinda locked himself in his–”

Arme doesn’t wait for Elsword to finish before he turns away to ascend the stairs. the door to Erblu’s room is locked, so Arme knocks instead and he can feel Erblu’s celestial aura jolt at the sound. Arme extends his own aura toward it, inquisitively.

eventually, the door clicks and Arme pushes it open.

“Arme.” Erblu smiles at him, but there’s no emotion behind it. “you’re back early.”

Arme closes the door, behind him and Erblu reaches over to lock it. Erblu never locks the door. when Erblu turns toward the bed, Arme notices a few bandages wrapped around Erblu’s left arm.

“Erblu.” Arme catches it and Erblu winces, tries to pull his arm back. Arme furrows his brow, pressing his fingers into it. it bleeds, red. Arme lets go in surprise.

“ah, it’s nothing,” Erblu says with a casual smile, holding his arm close to him. “I just accidentally cut myself– I ran into a statue, was kind of dumb–”

“you’re bleeding,” Arme states.

“yes, well–”

“Erblu, celestials can’t bleed.”

and Erblu goes silent, face pale. so he understands then. there’s no need to reiterate. they’re celestials; their human forms are made of light, not flesh and blood. Arme reaches for him, but Erblu only backs away.

“I… I… I don’t know– I don’t know what’s happening, Arme.” Erblu takes a deep breath, his eyes moist with tears. “it just happened, might have been clipped by a spear, I didn’t feel it at first, but then Elsword noticed that my arm was covered in blood. I thought it was demon blood until he showed me it. – I don’t _understand_. celestials don’t–”

Arme grabs him, this time his hand infused with divine power. Erblu only flinches as the cool, healing energy seeps into his skin, seals the wound closed.

“like a human’s,” Arme says quietly, dropping his hand to his side. Erblu unravels the bloodied bandage slowly to see a thin scar where his wound was. traces it with a finger, still shaken. Arme looks up at Erblu, attempts to decipher his expression, but Erblu’s blank when he wants to be. “does it interfere with your power? you didn’t heal yourself.”

“I– couldn’t concentrate enough for Rein,” Erblu says, avoiding his gaze. “no Mut or Wille either.”

“then you should calm down,” Arme says bluntly. “your power is based on your emotion; you can’t control it if you can’t control your emotions.”

“thanks, Arme. I had _no_ idea.”

Arme frowns, but places a hand on his head. Erblu blinks as Arme traces his fingers over his forehead, his cheek, before curling to stop at his neck. Erblu’s warm, still, like he has always been. but Erblu looks at him, hesitant, wary, afraid. Arme pulls his hand away, shrugs. “if it doesn’t interfere with your power, I wouldn’t worry.”

Erblu lowers his eyes to his wound. “you… don’t think the goddess would disapprove?”

“if the goddess allowed you to take on human emotions, would the goddess object to you taking on the traits of an actual human body?”

Erblu remains silent.

Arme sighs. “to me, adopting human emotions is worse.”

Erblu snorts. “that’s just your opinion, Arme.”

“but my point stands.” Arme shrugs. “you’ll blend in more with the humans. you’ll be influenced less by corrupted El. so as long as you can complete your mission, it doesn’t matter what path you take.”

Erblu rubs his arm self-consciously, like he’s realizing for the first time the advantages of having a human body. Erblu has always liked having the warmth of a human and tried to imitate it by deliberately circulating the El through himself. like this, he doesn’t have to.

“I do feel better this way,” Erblu finally admits. flicks his fingers to summon an experimental Eid. it shines just as strongly as ever, and then he closes his hand. his eyes are soft, contemplative. “it’ll just… be weird to bleed.”

“you’ll just need to be more careful.”

“are you bothered by it, Arme?”

the question comes out of nowhere and Arme blinks. Erblu’s not looking at him again, a wryness in his smile. “are you disgusted that I’ve– haha, _tainted_ my celestial existence again by becoming more human?”

Arme doesn’t understand the point of this question. when it comes to Erblu, he knows he can’t feel this emotion Erblu calls _disgust_. so he says, “you’ve always been more willing to embrace your human side, so I’m not surprised. you can still draw upon the power of the goddess, and that's all I care for.”

“you’re comforting in bizarre ways,” Erblu mutters, but he’s smiling slightly again. to himself. Arme reaches over to pat him on the head. feels that bit of life curl up and meet him. Erblu takes his hand, wraps his warm fingers around his. smiles– this time, sincerely. “thanks, Arme.”

Arme blinks. “why are you thanking me?”

“for being you.”

“and why is that something you want to thank me for?”

Erblu laughs, but evades his question. those green eyes sparkle, knowingly, mysteriously, and Erblu touches his hair lightly with his other hand. Arme demurs.

“don’t mind it, Arme.”  



	38. 51; (modern!au) arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 51; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (modern!au) Arme and Apos have a morning routine.

Arme blinks his eyes open blearily, turns his head to the clock on the bedside drawer. it reads six o’clock exactly– it’s a habit that’s hard to break. the light in the room is dim, the heavy curtains drawn in front of the wide windows hiding the sparse morning rays.

Apos stirs when Arme shifts, his eyes cracking open to reveal a blank green. his arms are wrapped around Arme and when Arme tries to move, his embrace only tightens.

“it’s six, Apos,” Arme says, placing a hand gently onto Apos’s messy gray hair. Apos blinks an eye shut at the touch and leans into his hand. Arme wonders whether Apos is fully conscious. “when did you end up sleeping?”

Apos doesn’t answer, closing his eyes to a soft snore. still half-asleep then. but Apos loosens his hold long enough for Arme to slip out of bed and step onto the chilly wooden floor. Arme stretches, watching as Apos search the bed blindly, before grabbing the plush bear resting against the headboard and offering it to Apos. Apos takes it, curls his body around it, and when he finally stills, Arme heads to the bathroom.

Apos joins him a few minutes later, his eyes still set in an empty gaze. his light green blanket is covering his head and his pajama shirt is hanging limply on his frame– it’s Arme’s old one, of course, because Apos refuses to wear anything else. Arme rinses out his mouth before placing his cup on the counter and watches Apos feel the wall for the bathroom lights to turn them off.

convincing Apos to go back to bed at this point is futile. and so is trying to talk to him in general. so Arme pulls the blanket from his head, drapes it carefully around Apos’s shoulders. Apos doesn’t react, his mind not quite awake yet, and he stares at the counter blankly. Arme guides him to his toothbrush helpfully.

when Apos is done, he collapses against Arme, pressing his forehead against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Arme’s waist. Arme takes a brush and runs it through Apos’s long hair, working out the tangles gently, listens to Apos’s soft breathing as he falls asleep again.

Arme wanders to the kitchen with Apos in tow, turns on the kettle. when the water rumbles to a boil, Apos stirs, lifts his head to see the light filtering in through the window.

“breakfast,” Apos mumbles quietly, pulling away to open the fridge. Arme watches, leaning back against the kitchen counter, as Apos closes the door, closes his eyes firmly, before opening it again, pulling out the carton of eggs. fumbles through the pans on the drying rack, before placing one onto the stove, turning on the burner. Apos places a hand dangerously close to the pan, shutting his eyes. like he’s absorbing the heat.

“how much sleep did you get?” Arme asks.

Apos gives him a dead-eyed look, but it’s a conscious reaction this time. his answer is whisper quiet. “three.”

“better than usual.” Arme picks up the kettle when it turns off, pours the hot water into the mugs he’s set on the counter. one a robin blue, the other a light green, both patterned with tiny black cats– both of them Arme bought because Apos stared at them for a bit too long. Apos only blinks at them in confusion, before reaching for the cupboard and pulling out a box of tea bags. Arme takes it sheepishly and drops the chamomile into the mugs. Apos turns his attention back to the eggs, adeptly cracks a few into the pan.

Apos washes the dishes after breakfast and Arme sorts through his clean clothes, picking out what they’ll wear today. Apos doesn’t own any business wear– if Arme’s honest, Apos doesn’t own any of the clothing in the apartment– but he’s been perfectly happy raiding Arme’s closet. Arme’s tucking his knives into his pockets when Apos pads over quietly and hugs him from behind, sinking his chin into Arme’s shoulder. his eyes meet Arme’s through the mirror.

Apos dips his hand under Arme’s tie, tugs it out from his suit. Arme places his hand on Apos’s and pulls it away from his tie.

“I put yours on the bed.”

Apos glances over at the stack of clothes, but he doesn’t budge.

Arme lets out a sigh. “fine.”

Apos enjoys it, Arme thinks, the attention. Arme pulls the pressed shirt over Apos’s shoulders, lets Apos thread his arms through the sleeves, and buttons it up. Apos pulls on his pants as Arme tugs the blazer on. he throws a solid forest green tie around Apos’s neck, tying it neatly. when he’s done, Apos loosens it slightly, fingers slipping to undo the top button of his shirt. Arme frowns a little.

“constricting,” Apos says as explanation, and then curls his arms around Arme again to nestle into Arme’s comforting space. he takes a deep breath. “you smell nice.”

Arme sighs and wraps an arm around Apos’s back securely. with his free hand, he reaches for his phone on the desk and checks his schedule. Apos presses his nose into Arme’s teal hair, poking inquisitively.

“quiet morning. no meetings,” Arme says, slipping his phone into his pocket. he sweeps Apos’s bangs away from his eyes and Apos looks down, away, lets his hair fall into his left eye again. “you can nap at the office.”

Apos has no intention of letting go. “mm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leaves random headcanons here:
> 
> Arme can’t cook for his life. probably has set something on fire the one or two times he’s actually tried. he doesn’t have the attention span for cooking (he doesn’t have any attention span for anything he’s not interested in), so most of his interactions with kitchen appliances are restricted to ones that automatically turn off.
> 
> Apos actually can cook, but he only cooks breakfast. it’s a methodical process that wakes him up and helps him ease into consciousness. Apos tries his best to cook breakfast every day, since it means Arme will actually end up eating breakfast. if left alone, Arme can and will skip both breakfast and lunch.
> 
> the tea habit is Apos’s. neither of them drink coffee. Apos stays away from caffeine, preferring to drink herbal teas that puts the average person to sleep. Arme is usually the one making the tea because he needs _something_ to do in the morning while Apos wakes up.  
>  Apos doesn’t actually care for cute things, even though he’s surrounded by them. it’s entirely Arme’s fault. Arme will buy things for Apos because the only indication Apos wants anything is when he looks at it for a long time. but Apos only stares at things when they remind him of Arme. specifically if they have the same blue shade as Arme’s eyes. despite being weirdly perceptive of everything else, Arme, the dense brick, hasn’t noticed this yet.


	39. 52; anpassen / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 52; Lofty Anpassen / Apostasia
> 
> somehow, Erblu becomes Anpassen again. Apos… doesn’t know what to do.

Apos is about to turn away, when a hand grabs his arm. it’s cold, then it’s warm, a flicker of familiarity curling in the touch. when he looks back, he can see a glint of it in those green eyes. a trying, strained smile. a plea.

“Apos, please stay.”

there’s the blue of the goddess in the celestial’s hair, a brightness he hasn’t seen or felt in awhile. but his aura soothes him, beckons him close. so Apos stays, lets that hand hold onto him.

“okay.” the voice too is the same and so is the stubborn crinkle in his brow. and then a smile, blooming, happy. “see, I have it under control.”

Anpassen. Erblu’s previous form. Apos can feel the untempered emotions, the unwieldy energy around him. the sparkle of Eid around him is weaker, the goddess’s energy a trace, but still detectable. it’s uncomfortable, but Anpassen’s smile is still Erblu’s, even as his aura and his form is not.

Anpassen’s other hand reaches out to steady his shoulder and Apos realizes that he has been shaking. Anpassen’s touch is measured, afraid the slightest move would ignite Mut. the Eid blinks from yellow to red and then back. Anpassen struggles to keep Rein.

“hey, stop looking at me like that, Apos. you’re making me feel self-conscious.”

and there it is again, Erblu’s smile. Anpassen’s hand on his wrist has become cold again, but the warmth on his shoulder doesn’t abide. the inconsistency confuses him.

then Anpassen sighs, glances down. it surprises him how easily Apos can see the guilt, the disappointment in his expression. Erblu would have never let Apos see this side of him; he always hid his raw emotions, pushed away his own needs. Erblu would have trapped him in an inescapable hug instead, coaxed his worries away.

but this– is still Erblu.

“I’m sorry, Apos.” and slowly Anpassen brings his arms tentatively around Apos. his body is cold, unlike the warmth of the El, like the chill of the divine, but Apos feels the air shift, cover him with rippling warmth. “sorry, I…”

but Anpassen doesn’t finish his sentence. he nestles his face into Apos’s shoulder, clinging onto him tightly. Anpassen trembles, a hollowness in that celestial form where it is usually filled with emotion, filled with confidence, affection. now Apos can feel only doubt, only sadness.

but this is still Erblu. still the Erblu who accepts him and loves him.

so Apos closes his eyes, tucks his hands around Anpassen. dips his fingers into those strands of hair, the ones radiating the power of the goddess. Anpassen starts a little, in surprise, but holds onto him. calming El starts to surround him, surround them.

Anpassen falls asleep after awhile. he’s probably exhausted from dealing with emotions this form is ill-equipped to handle. still, Anpassen won’t let go. Apos lifts him up carefully and carries him to the bed, before resting him gently onto the sheets.

Anpassen stirs for long enough to pull Apos onto the bed too.

“I’ll be better when I turn back.” and Anpassen smiles tiredly, pokes his nose into Apos’s forehead, before recoiling and rubbing his nose. “ow, I just wanted to kiss you good night.”

Apos curls his arms around him, presses his lips against Anpassen’s forehead. and Anpassen finally relaxes in his arms, unfolds a faint Rein Blume around him. Apos rests in Anpassen’s fragile healing bubble, silent, reserved.

the emotion he saw in Anpassen’s eyes, Apos doesn’t want to see it again. because the last thing Apos wants is for Anpassen– _Erblu_ – to run away from him. in fear.


	40. 53; erblu / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 53; Erbluhen Emotion / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> somehow, Apos becomes Wander again. Erblu loves him anyway.
> 
> related to 52

Erblu smiles gently. a startled green eye fixes on him, but Erblu touches the long braid curiously. with his other hand, he brushes messy gray strands away from the bandages wrapped over the celestial’s left eye. Erblu’s not sure how or why, not sure how these circumstances came to be, but--

this celestial, Wanderer, is Apos’s previous incarnation.

so Erblu adapts.

“here, let me comb your hair,” Erblu says, as he always does, kneeling on the bed. pats the spot in front of him, waits. Wander stares, his nervousness palpable, before shifting slowly toward him. Erblu unties the braid, coaxes loose the strands, its strange mix of deep green and gray. like Apos’s, but wavy, stiff from being held in the braid. Erblu hums as he works through the knots with a brush, runs his fingers through Wander’s long hair.

“Erblu?”

and Erblu blinks. Wander’s voice is different from Apos’s, not as rough, not as empty. there’s still emotion in his tone, but it’s hesitating, wary-- small and scared.

“do... you hate me?”

Erblu pauses. Apos never asks him anything like this. Apos never _says anything_. he’s content to let Erblu do all the talking, to let Erblu to do what he wants. content to just take anything Erblu gives him.

Wander lowers his head, trembles in the silence. but this is still-- Apos. that Apos thought of such a question is surprising. and that Wander wanted to ask him this-- is painful.

so Erblu curls his arms around Wander’s front, rests his chin on the other celestial’s head.

“no, I don’t hate you,” Erblu says. and then he smiles. “I mean, I’m here with you right now, aren’t I?”

Wander only presses his fingers into his palms. he’s still doubting, still unsure. Apos is unreadable, but Wander is not. Erblu starts to unwrap the bandages around his head. when Erblu pulls it off, Wander places a hand over his left eye, curls into himself. Apos does that to protect himself-- and Wander does too.

but Erblu’s pretty sure he knows why. so he takes Wander’s hand and moves it gently away from his eye.

“Erblu, don’t--”

Erblu’s gaze softens, and he brushes his thumb under that eye. his left eye is a dull green-- Apos’s-- mismatching his right eye, a bright green-- like Erblu’s. there’s emotion in one and none in the other. lost confusion in one; but in the other, the abyss. suddenly, it clicks.

his behavior. his question. his fear. Wander exists in a limbo, not yet torn from the goddess, not yet welcomed by the void. the reversion to this incarnation revived those emotions. only now instead of acceptance from the goddess, Wander is looking for Erblu’s.

“-- Erblu?”

Erblu feels his own emotions welling up from inside of him. he wraps his arms around Wander carefully. he lets out a long breath.

“you know, I love you no matter how you are.”

and he can hear Wander’s heart race against his chest. feels fingers curl hesitantly against his arm. “even if… right now, I’m not…?”

Erblu nods, and smiles, closes his eyes, lets his emotions imbue the air with warmth and affection. “you’re still someone I care for and love. as Apos or Wander.”

Wander shifts a little and Erblu can see Wander wiping the tears from his right eye. Erblu nudges him and kisses the side of his head. Wander hiccups in surprise and shrinks away from it at first, before he calms and slowly moves to leans his head against Erblu’s shoulder, pulling his knees to his chest.

oh, Erblu blinks-- that’s… cute.

Apos never shows him emotions like these-- doesn’t show any at all. so it’s hard for Erblu to know what he wants or what he’s thinking, only that Apos wants his attention, wants his care. as Wander nestles into his embrace contentedly, Erblu holds him, Eid sparkling happily around him.

maybe it isn’t so bad if Apos is like this-- just for a little while longer.


	41. 54; executor / anpassen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 54; Lofty Executor / Lofty Anpassen
> 
> Executor has bunny ears. Anpassen wants to touch them.

Executor isn’t difficult for him to find. he’s a stubborn bubble of fierce heavenly power floating about in a world that is created from El. Anpassen only has to take a few steps out of the Elder gates to instantly detect the other celestial’s radiant aura.

he finds Executor sitting at the crook of a tree branch, circulating his energy in rest, his hood pulled up over his head. Anpassen blinks. Executor only has his hood up when he’s fighting. Anpassen gathers a bit of El at his feet, enough to propel him up onto the branch, lands himself gently next to the other celestial.

Executor cracks opens a sharp green eye. “what are you doing here?”

Anpassen offers him a kind smile, swings his legs idly. “you didn’t come by for dinner today.”

“celestials don’t need to eat,” Executor answers flatly.

“but I thought you enjoyed dinner last night.” Executor’s brow furrows. did Anpassen read him wrong? maybe Executor didn’t enjoy it– maybe he pretended, just to appear more human. like Anpassen did, too often.

then Executor says simply, “it would have been strange to refuse.”

“I guess it would have been weird,” Anpassen agrees, glancing away. after all, it’s the only reason Anpassen even joins everyone for dinner. but Executor being there– made it feel different. made it easier to smile.

when Anpassen looks up, Executor’s observing him, judging him silently. Anpassen smiles in return and Executor’s frown deepens. Executor’s hood is still up, the heavy white cloth covering his light gray hair.

then Anpassen notices it. blinks. he reaches over to touch the–

Executor flinches away, readjusting his hood to cover more of his hair. Anpassen blinks, moving his fingers in the air. soft– it was very soft.

Anpassen doesn’t realize he’s slid up next to Executor until the other turns away. “Executor, what is…”

“do _not_ ask.” there’s veritable venom into those words, but also there’s a light flush on his cheeks. Executor avoids his eyes.

Anpassen figures it couldn’t really hurt to ask. “could I… touch it?”

Executor stiffens, then shifts his gaze downward. that is… a yes, then. Executor is usually not shy about saying no. so Anpassen places his hand on his hood, pulls it away slightly, before nestling his fingers into his hair. it’s soft. _fur_? as Anpassen touches it, he realizes it’s shaped like a bunny ear.

it– _is_ a bunny ear.

_Executor has bunny ears._

“you have bunny ears,” Anpassen says.

“obviously. I was waiting for it to wear off,” Executor mutters resentfully. but he lets Anpassen to rub his fingers along his ear in awe. “some inane magic caught me off guard.”

Anpassen is a little surprised. “you were caught off guard?”

Executor frowns and pulls down the hood over his hand, but Anpassen reaches for the other side, cupping the floppy ear in his fingers. strokes it gently. Executor doesn’t push him away this time, so Anpassen moves to rub the soft inner fur with his thumb.

“this is ridiculous,” Executor finally says, but there’s no bite in his words, no sharpness in those eyes. Anpassen only smiles.

“does it feel good?”

Executor stares at him blankly, before glancing away, a faint pinkness on his cheeks. Anpassen rests against him, lets a few half-formed Eid rise into the branches. Executor notices them and frowns.

“Anpassen, what are you doing?”

Anpassen nuzzles his face into Executor’s shoulder. “expressing my emotions.”

Executor isn’t having it. “the last time you summoned these ‘Eids,’ you obliterated half a forest.”

“it was just a few trees.”

“if you haven’t noticed, _we’re in a tree_.”

Anpassen smiles blithely. “then let’s go back. we’ll be on time for that dessert thing Elsword gets so excited about.”

Executor looks like he’s about to object, but freezes when Anpassen pinches an ear between two fingers. Anpassen can feel his smile curl into something else– more teasing, more playful.

“… I’d rather stay,” Executor grumbles. “I don’t want anyone to see these… stupid things.”

“but you’re letting me see them,” Anpassen points out. “and touch them.”

“yes, well,” Executor says shortly. “it’s you.”

Anpassen blinks. Executor doesn’t elaborate, still refusing to look at him. Anpassen curls an arm around his shoulder tentatively, tightening his hold when he realizes Executor isn’t rejecting it.

ah, it’s the feeling again. stirring in his form. the emotion called ‘happiness.’


	42. 55; anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 55; Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> he looks for the goddess, but he finds _himself_ instead.

they tell him the same things as they did before. go to the Shrine of Dedication, perhaps there, he will find his answer.

but he has gone before. he’s seen the El, seen the darkness seep into it. seen something that was so pure, so holy-- corrupted.

like his form-- like himself.

but he goes anyway, because the pain won’t relent this time and the chaos won’t cease. maybe this time, he thinks, the goddess will answer him. maybe this time, he’ll hear her.

when he falls to his knees in front of the crumbling statue of the ‘angel,’ he lowers his head in a plea. even if this likeness is nothing like the goddess, even though this ‘angel’ is nothing but a human’s fantasy, surely, surely, it can help him reach her--

“hm?” and he starts, glances up to meet curious green eyes. a young man’s leaning against the statue, perched on the pedestal, his head tilted. “what are you doing here?”

he remains silent. has his senses dulled so much he can’t sense the presence of a human anymore?

the young man jumps off the pedestal, lands with a graceful float to the ground. pats the statue with a hand, before walking toward him, boots clacking against the stone floor. kneels and reaches out to touch his corrupted arm.

“you’re a celestial.”

he flinches back, yanking his arm away. “how--”

and the young man smiles. “I can sense it still. even with all this…” he waves toward the hovering chaos. “clouding around your form.”

he grasps his arm tightly, looks-- examines the young man. soft green eyes, filled with emotion. short gray hair with just a tinge of light blue at its fringe. just like he used to have-- except not. different. but the same.

not a human, he realizes belatedly. a celestial, like him.

a hand pushes his hair back from his eye, traces the bandages gently, no doubt sensing the mark of Henir. shame coils in the pit of his stomach and he lowers his eyes.

“... so you haven’t gotten rid of it either,” comes the murmur. he blinks, but a softness starts to radiates from the other’s form. when he looks up, he sees a green glow and cool diamond eyes. green-- not blue, like his used to be. the celestial points to his left eye, his voice echoing, _“see? mine’s still here too.”_

it’s as he remembers, those vicious blue marks. his own has spread, in possession. the softness wisps out and the celestial returns to his human form, gives him a gentle smile.

“sorry, I guess I should’ve introduced myself. I’d tell you to call me _Ain_ , but that’s not going to work, is it?” and a warm hand comes to wrap around his, touching the corruption laced over his fingers. “you can call me Anpassen instead.”

Anpassen lets the warmth flow into their entwined hands and it curls with a strange energy. his dulled senses can’t distinguish what it is.

“what about you?”

he looks down, searches the pebbling path for an answer. he can’t be called _Ain_ anymore, much less a celestial proper. they-- the townspeople he’s seen in so many dimensions-- call him the Wanderer. and he wanders, so it’s fitting.

“Wanderer,” he says, voice soft. but his fingers grasp the other’s hand. desperate for the comfort.

“Wander,” Anpassen repeats thoughtfully. and then again, with a smile. “Wander.”

a re-christening. he feels something bubble in his chest, flutter shyly amidst the perpetual dread within him. so Wander accepts it.

“want to come back to town with me, Wander?” Anpassen asks, but doesn’t give him a choice. he stands, pulling Wander up with him. Wander stumbles a bit, but Anpassen doesn’t let go. “I don’t uh, want anyone to think I broke this… strange thing.”

Anpassen’s referring to the angel statue. when Anpassen sees Wander’s gaze shift over to it, he pouts. “I didn’t! it cracked when I touched it. representation of the goddess, please.”

he wonders, what he was looking for when he came here to this shrine. he closes his eyes, feels the warmth of Anpassen’s hand, feels his strange energy thrum through him.

whatever it was, maybe he’s found it.


	43. 56; (highschool!au) arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (highschool!au: Erblu befriends the school’s inseparable ice duo, Arme and Apos. between the two of them, you’d think they’d have at least an ounce of romantic sense.) Erblu teaches Arme and Apos what a “kiss” is. results vary.

Erblu finds them both on the building’s rooftop after his club meeting. Apos is leaning against the railing, absent green eyes gazing into the sunset, blazer slung over his shoulder, tie loose around his neck, long gray hair whipping in the spring breeze. Arme is sitting on the ground next to him, scribbling into the two notebooks on his lap, uniform immaculate, piercing blue eyes concentrated on the textbook propped in front of him.

neither of them look at him when Erblu shuts the roof door. they both know he’s there and they both say nothing. Erblu sighs. for seemingly complete opposites, Apos and Arme are exactly the same.

“don’t want to say hi to me?” Erblu drops his school bag next to Arme and his eyes barely flicker in response. Erblu pouts, then comes up behind Apos, wraps his arms around him. Apos only shifts his head slightly in acknowledgement. “you guys are so cold.”

Erblu rests his chin on Apos’s shoulder, peering over at Arme again, who’s still studiously ignoring his presence. Erblu smiles. “what about giving me a kiss instead? Apos?”

“a… kiss?” Apos blinks at him slowly and Erblu chuckles when he notices Arme’s pencil stop writing.

“here, I’ll show you.” Erblu turns Apos around, holds him by the arms, and pecks Apos lightly on the cheek. he pulls away, radiates happily. “like that.”

Apos rubs the spot on his cheek self-consciously but doesn’t say anything. but Erblu’s got Arme’s attention now. Arme’s blink is slightly curious. “is that supposed to mean something?”

“it’s love!” Erblu chirps, snuggling into Apos affectionately. “it’s an expression of love, Arme.”

“huh.” Arme arches a brow. “so you love Apos?”

“of course,” and Erblu smiles, with a bit of mischief, curls his arms around the other teen. Apos looks away from them both. Erblu teases, “are you jealous, Arme?”

Arme turns his attention back to his homework. “jealousy is an unproductive emotion.” and Erblu snorts. figures the first thing Arme would do is deny it.

Apos pulls at Erblu’s sleeve shyly, his voice quiet. “Erblu?”

“hm?”

Apos pulls away just enough to look at him, a dizzy haze in his green eyes. Erblu holds him steadily, concerned, and Apos presses his lips gently on the cheek. Erblu blinks, pleasantly surprised.

“whoa, really, Apos?”

“you asked for it,” Apos says, his voice a tiny murmur. “and it feels nice.”

and Erblu smiles, bliss overcoming his heart, and hugs him tighter. “ah, you make me so happy, Apos. unlike a certain _someone_ here.”

“you _both_ are strange,” Arme sighs, but he snaps the notebooks closed and places them on the ground next to his bag. Erblu watches Arme stands, stretches out his hands, before reaching for Erblu, his fingers touching his cheek gently.

“Arme?”

without a word, Arme leans in to brush his lips over Erblu’s cheek. Erblu starts, but before Arme can pull away, Erblu yanks him by the tie, places a kiss at the edge of his lips. when they part, Arme raises his fingers to his face, gently touching the spot Erblu kissed. Erblu thinks he can see a light flush bloom on his cheeks, but Arme turns away.

“interesting,” Arme says blankly. after a thoughtful moment, he reaches up to adjust his tie. even though no discipline committee member will dare cross him in the first place. “it doesn’t seem very sanitary.”

Erblu stares at him. “ _sanitary_? – _this_ is how you react to someone kissing you?”

“how am I supposed to react?” Arme’s expression is confused, but sincerely so, and Erblu just wants to laugh and cry. he slams his forehead into Apos’s shoulder instead and Apos pats at his back awkwardly, not sure if Erblu needs any comforting at all.

“at least Apos understands me.” Erblu sniffs dramatically. “no wonder no one’s ever asked you out, Arme.”

“you know I don’t care, Erblu,” Arme says, but he leans against the railing and touches Apos’s cheek carefully with the back of his fingers. “want a ‘kiss’ too, Apos? while we’re at it.”

Apos doesn’t say no, only peers at him timidly, so Arme leans in to place a kiss lightly against his cheek. Apos’s eyes flutter softly, before he leans over to shyly peck Arme in return. this time, Erblu sees a pinkness dust Arme’s cheeks. Apos pushes his face into Erblu’s shoulder, his heart beating rapidly against Erblu’s. Erblu curls his arms around him, his smile softening.

“right. anyway,” Arme says, pulling away. his expression is one of mild confusion. “I’ve reached my cheesy romance quota for the day.”

“you have a cheesy romance quota.”

Arme doesn’t deign to give Erblu an answer and sits down on the ground, flipping open the notebooks again. Erblu notices, there’s angular handwriting in one and looping cursive in the other. Erblu smiles, runs his hand idly through Apos’s hair, and Apos snuggles into his embrace.

“you’re so nice to Apos,” Erblu says with a touch of fondness. Arme quirks a brow, but doesn’t answer. then Erblu grins. “hey, wanna do my homework too, Arme?”

“you don’t even have the same classes, Erblu.”


	44. 57; executor / anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 57; Lofty Executor, Lofty Anpassen, Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Wander’s chaos is getting worse. Anpassen comforts him as Executor tries to figure out why.

“if you want me to take a look, stop hiding it.”

Executor bites his lip the moment the words leave his mouth. Wander’s trembling where he’s tucked under the blankets, curled in Anpassen’s embrace. Anpassen’s surrounding him with faint yellow Eids, rubbing his hand along Wander’s back, but Wander is clutching his left arm firmly, tellingly, and Executor frowns.

“come on, Wander,” Anpassen says gently, brushing Wander’s hair back from his left eye. “give him like, two minutes.”

when Wander refuses to move, Executor grabs his shoulder roughly. Wander starts, shrinking away, and Anpassen shoots Executor a look of disbelief. Executor rolls his eyes, but when he reaches out again, his hand is more precise, gingerly moving Wander’s hand away from his left arm. there’s a thick incision in his upper arm, parted to the air; around it, the darkened skin flakes off like ash.

“see, when I tried to heal it, it got worse,” Anpassen says when Executor pulls his hand away. Wander retracts his arm, lowering his head to nestle under Anpassen’s chin. Anpassen secures Wander tightly in his arms and asks, “so what do you think is wrong?”

Executor doesn’t answer, his gaze moving to Wander’s face, to his bloodshot right eye. sleep is something Wander rarely gets, but his eye twitches with pain, not exhaustion. Executor sits himself at the bedside, reaches over to nudge Wander’s face away from Anpassen’s coat. slowly, Executor pulls the bandages from his face and moves to cup his cheek, his fingers glowing with the power of the goddess.

Executor stares into Wander’s strange eye, but the eye, the hollow green, merely stares back.

“Wander, what do you feel?” Executor asks.

Wander looks at Executor, before glancing at Anpassen, who smiles in encouragement. Wander digs his fingers into the front of Anpassen’s coat, eyes lowering.

“… nothing,” he slowly admits. “I don’t… feel anything.”

with that, the blue light surrounding Executor’s fingers flickers out. Executor stands up, crossing his arms, brow furrowed thoughtfully, and Anpassen grabs the bandages that’s fallen around Wander’s neck and starts wrapping them around Wander’s head again. even if it does nothing, Wander breathes easier, smiles more naturally when no one can see it.

Wander’s bunching up Anpassen’s coat restlessly when Executor turns to leave.

“well, Executor?”

“well, what?”

“what’s wrong with Wander?”

“Wander can’t detect the power of the goddess,” Executor says bluntly. when Anpassen blinks at him in confusion, Executor frowns. “I thought you knew this. Wander’s getting worse because he can’t reach out to the goddess to recover.”

“oh.” Anpassen’s hand pausing on Wander’s back. “you mean, my Eids don’t help?”

“no,” Executor answers sharply, stopping abruptly when Anpassen drops his smile. Executor averts his eyes, tempering his tone. “… whatever power your Eids are made out of, its divine energy isn’t strong enough to resonate like the goddess’s.”

“oh. I see.” Anpassen only tightens his grasp on Wander, visibly slumping. Executor turns away, taking a few steps toward the door, when Anpassen blinks. “wait, where are you going?”

Executor looks at him, his eyes flashing a piercing blue, before he closes them to turn away. 

“going to find a catalyst. so I can channel the goddess better,” Executor says. when Anpassen doesn’t understand, he sighs, forms a shard of projection light in his hand. it disintegrates almost instantly. “look. this is my limit right now. if I could help Wander like this, don’t you think I would have done it already?”

there’s the barest frustration in his words. Anpassen blinks at him blankly before he perks up, glowing happily. “right! you’re always overflowing with the goddess’s power! _you_ can help Wander!”

“Anpassen, what did I just _say_?”

“sorry. catalyst. gotcha.” and Anpassen smiles. “thank you, Executor.”

Executor is silent for a moment, before he says quietly, “thank me when it works.”

when the door shuts loudly behind him, Wander draws back, pushing Anpassen away slightly. he touches his left eye carefully, fingers shaking, and Anpassen runs a hand along his arm, watching Wander with concern.

“just rest for now, Wander. I’ll stay here with you until Executor comes back.”

Wander casts his gaze away, but Anpassen takes his hand, rubbing the corrupted blue of his hand gently. Wander looks down at their hands, curls his fingers into his palm. a blank green clouds his right eye before he closes it. “it’s… better if I take care of it myself…”

Anpassen pauses. “but didn’t it hurt the last time you did that?”

Wander doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t look at him either. “it’s better if I don’t bother Executor…”

“but if he can help you–”

“it won’t work,” Wander says, his voice a soft whisper. “because Executor’s right. I can’t– _tell_ anymore. it only _hurts_.”

“well, we can give it a shot?” Anpassen tries to smile, but it comes out brittle. “if– if it doesn’t work, then…”

Anpassen doesn’t finish his sentence. he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks and rubs his face into Wander’s shoulder, his Eids shaking like frail wisps in the air. “we’ll…”

“it’s alright, Anpassen.” and Wander closes his hollow eye, lets Anpassen hold him close. “… it’s… enough that you and Executor haven’t abandoned me yet.”

Anpassen shakes his head, words earnest even as his voice chokes with tears. “you know we won’t ever abandon you, Wander.”


	45. 58; arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 58; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Erblu obtains a maid outfit.

Erblu looks at himself in the mirror. he flattens his skirt, adjusts the headdress perched atop his wig, and turns his head to feel the long gray pigtails swing over his shoulders.

besides the long wig and the underwear, the rest of the outfit is actually pretty comfortable. but by how everyone else reacted when Edel gave them their “proper servant attire,” Erblu thought it was best to just keep his mouth shut. human propriety has always been one of the hardest things for him to learn, and he couldn’t just ask _why_ this is so wrong.

April Fool’s Day, Rena said with no other explanation. Elsword should have known better than to trust the Elder’s promise of lavish rewards.

Erblu doesn’t really get it. it was a gift, quite literally handed to them on a silver platter. it was hard for him to even pretend to hate something so _nice_. once they finished cleaning, Chung looked him with concern and suddenly declared he was fine with walking back to the inn like this. Elsword immediately volunteered to do so as well, in “solidarity.” Raven and Ciel shrugged, both clearly nonchalant about their state of dress, and Add squawked about how he wanted to go back to the inn as soon as possible anyway. Elesis only snickered and Aisha facepalmed.

so they all ended up parading through the town in those outfits, drawing a number of looks on the way. a lot of looks. Erblu lost track of the number of townspeople Add threatened to murder.

now that he’s alone in his room though, Erblu can fully appreciate it. Erblu turns slightly, letting the skirt sway, brushing the skin above his stockings. when he asked earlier, Elsword explained that was embarrassing to wear something like this. but the girls clearly enjoyed their outfits, so it didn’t make any sense. after all this time learning to be human, he never understood the concept of embarrassment.

his wig’s starting to itch. Erblu unpins the headdress carefully and then slides the wig off. the rebellious gray strand perks up from where it was crushed and Erblu places the wig carefully at the edge of the bed, before running his hand through his crumpled hair.

the window creaks open slowly, and Erblu blinks, sensing a brooding celestial presence creep into the room like a fog. he looks up, smiling when he sees Apos hovering by the window, blinking blankly. “hey, Apos.”

Apos doesn’t reply, dazed eyes fixed on his form. Erblu knows this look as one of curiosity and his smile widens.

“oh, this?” Erblu twirls, feeling the edge of his skirt swish around his knees as he does. “got this as a present. looks nice, right?”

Apos’s gaze shifts up from the hem of the skirt to the waistband of the skirt, to the small black ribbon on his collar. Erblu taps over to him, the thin stockings soft against the floorboards, and wraps his arms around Apos, collapsing against him with a content sigh.

Apos touches the puff at his shoulder and it crumples under his touch. his hand moves to the ribbon tied behind Erblu’s back, slowly collecting it in his fingers. 

“it feels soft,” Apos notes simply.

Erblu sparkles. “yes.”

eventually Apos leaves his hands at the small of his back and pokes his nose into the puffed sleeve contentedly. Erblu chuckles.

“do you want to try it on, Apos?”

Apos doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t pull back either. he lowers his eyes, moving to play with the ribbon at Erblu’s neck. then, he answers, his voice quiet, “I don’t mind.”

Erblu squeezes him affectionately. “alright then!”

Erblu changes out of the dress quickly, shrugging on his casual wear. he presses the maid dress against Apos’s chest to check its size, before realizing Apos has the same build as him anyway. so Erblu tucks the dress over his arm and starts to coax Apos out of his ripped clothes. a few confused moments later, Apos is sitting on the edge of the bed, grasping at the hem of the skirt, fingers running over the ruffles. Erblu helps him with the stockings.

Apos looks much cuter in it than he did, Erblu decides. Erblu grabs a brush at the bedside table and crawls onto the bed behind Apos, starts combing through Apos’s messy hair. Apos picks at the silk stockings gently, wiggling his toes in the fabric, as Erblu folds his hair carefully into a braid, before ending it with a white ribbon bow.

“come, Apos.” Erblu jumps off the bed and takes Apos’s wrists to pull him up and toward the mirror. Apos stumbles a little, pauses in front of the reflection, blinking blankly at himself. Erblu straightens the skirt crumpled around him and wraps the apron around his waist, tightens it into a neat bow.

“there.” Erblu tiptoes in front of Apos to admire his handiwork and Apos’s cuteness, radiates softly. “do you like it?”

Apos doesn’t answer, looks down to lift up the apron curiously. Erblu smiles and hugs him tightly, pressing his face into Apos’s shoulder. runs his hand along Apos’s back, sighing happily. “so cute, Apos.”

Apos lets go of the fabric, before relaxing into Erblu’s hug, nuzzling into his neck.

“… what are you two doing?”

Erblu blinks at the voice, pulls away just enough to see Arme standing at the door, brow raised in silent judgment. Erblu perks up, smiling.

“hey, Arme.” Erblu grasps the thick white ribbon behind Apos, flutters it in the air. “don’t you think Apos looks cute in this?”

Apos looks up at Arme when the door closes behind him, restless, hesitant. but there is only complete confusion in those blue eyes.

“what is that? Elsword was wearing the same thing when I came in.”

“it’s a maid’s uniform! I received it as a gift.”

Arme looks at him skeptically. “maids do menial labor.”

“it was for Edel. we thought it was important, but she only wanted us to clean her mansion…” Erblu laughs sheepishly, but Arme’s still frowning. “it was a nice break from fighting, but everyone was embarrassed about it for some reason. what _is_ embarrassment, Arme?”

“an unnecessary emotion.”

Erblu pouts. but Arme approaches them, takes off his right glove, and picks up the skirt, rubs the fabric between his fingers. Apos fixes his eyes on Arme’s hand as Arme examines the fabric. “the quality is nice.”

“that’s what Chung said,” Erblu says. “too nice for ‘cosplay,’ whatever that means.”

Arme shrugs, but raises a hand to brush along Apos’s bangs. Apos blinks an eye closed, but nudges into Arme’s careful celestial touch, letting out a tiny satisfied noise. Erblu feels his heart fill with happiness. if there’s something he’s thankful for, it’s that his two counterparts have finally gotten comfortable around each other. even though Apos is rarely verbal with what he wants and Arme’s hopelessly oblivious most of the time. 

Arme pulls his hand away and Apos lifts his head to follow it, before slumping back into Erblu’s shoulder. his hollow green eyes watch Arme intently. Erblu blinks, connects the dots. Arme’s shrugging off his coat when Erblu asks, “do you want to try it on, Arme?”

Arme shakes out his coat, words blunt. “why would I?”

Erblu smiles knowingly and nudges his cheek into Apos’s hair. Apos doesn’t stop staring at Arme, his gaze insistent. there’s a crinkle in Arme’s brow when he understands, but Erblu smiles wider when Arme finally sighs.

“fine.” his blue eyes are distant, emotionless, and he glances away. “if Apos doesn’t mind taking it off.”

Apos doesn’t, of course, and takes Arme’s coat in exchange. as Arme struggles to put the dress on, Apos slips on Erblu’s pajama shirt and rolls onto the bed, tugging Arme’s white coat along with him. Erblu’s humming happily as he loops the white apron around Arme’s waist, fluffs out the skirt around him. when Erblu reaches up to place the headdress on his head, Arme pushes his hand away.

“ah– but you should at least put on the stockings,” Erblu says, lips curving into a smile. Arme gives him a deadpan, but turns toward the bed, where the stockings are folded neatly on the sheets. Apos looks at him with expectation, before nudging it toward him with a toe. Arme takes the stockings with more deliberation than necessary and sits on the bed.

Erblu sits next to him, leaning until he’s propped his chin on Arme’s shoulder. Apos sits up too, tucking his arms around Arme’s waist. Arme stares blankly at the stockings, before he tugs them on, movements exact, precise.

Erblu’s eyes glitter mischievously. “so what do you think?”

Arme frowns. Apos press his forehead against his arm, traces a finger along the top of the stocking, ghosting over Arme’s exposed skin. Arme moves his leg away. “I still don’t understand.”

“me neither,” Erblu chirps. “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

Arme’s answer is sharp. “no.”

Erblu smiles broadly, reaching over to hold Arme’s hands firmly. “but it looks so good on you, Arme.”

Arme rolls his eyes. Apos rests his head against the ruffled skirt, bunching the soft cloth idly, and Erblu snuggles under Arme’s chin, letting a few Eids flutter around them. after a few quiet moments, Arme shifts his knees uncomfortably, still tangled in their grasp.

“… can I change now?”

“no,” Apos says quietly. his eyes flash a blank green, daring Arme to refuse. Erblu stifles a giggle and Arme sighs, but he doesn’t make any move to push them away, taking a hand from Erblu to pet Apos on the head. Apos half-closes his eyes, dozes in Arme’s calming presence.

“mm, stay like this for a little while, Arme,” Erblu yawns, closing his eyes too. “just wake me up for dinner, okay?”

Arme doesn’t object, placing his hand gently on Erblu’s hair. “alright.”


	46. 59; (foxgod!au) arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 59; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (foxgod!au: they’re heavenly spirits, descended from gods. they say if you find one, they will grant your deepest desire. they say if you save one, they will serve you for a lifetime.) Erbluhen entertains an esteemed guest at his home.

the twilight peers over the rustling grass, the trickling stream bubbling into the small garden. as a plinking of wood sounds a hollow rhythm in the quiet evening, a man astride an ebony horse approaches the lonesome house, the wind swaying the sword at his belt, tangling through his sky blue hair. the water courses, leaves rustle, the beat of wood a clear thunk, thunk… thunk.

behind the paper screens is a kneeling figure, still. when the man approaches the closed screens, the shadow shifts, twitching its ears in attention. he opens the screen with a snap.

“you are just in time. my last guest just left.” green eyes deep with a pool of knowledge and a smile, soft– cunning. the man, dressed in an autumn robe, kneels in front of an elegantly carved tea table, gestures toward the pillow on the other side. “allow me to pour you some tea.”

Erbluhen. the presider of futures, the keeper of secrets, the master of strategies. whole armies rise and fall at his word, entire kingdoms brought to their knees for daring to cross him.

the visitor removes his shoes, crosses the threshold, a leather sack in hand. he paces to the center of the room where Erbluhen kneels. Erbluhen pours water into his cast iron tea kettle, the fire below it flickering in promise, as the other man pushes back his white coat to kneel on the maple gold cushion in front of him.

there is a twinkle in Erbluhen’s green eyes. “so who do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Arme?”

Arme. a general for the Velder Army, currently locked in a war over the El against the Xin Empire. esteemed for his sword mastery, promoted for his wits. in his squadron, toleration for mistakes does not exist.

Arme’s expression is arranged perfectly in reticience. “do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Erbluhen chuckles.

there is still hot tea in the porcelain green teacup in front of Arme. Erbluhen takes it, pours it out on the tea table. it drips, flowing along the cracks of the wood, before draining out of a crevice into a wooden basin underneath. 

in the garden outside, the water chortles as it flows over stone, paints a picture of quiet serenity. Arme’s voice is similar, alike a calming brook. “you have quite the reputation now. soon they will think you can move mountains.”

“I do not deserve such high praise, Arme,” Erbluhen says with a smile. he takes his kettle and rinses both teacups with boiling water. drains them both. “I assume your scouting mission went well.”

“perfectly,” Arme says, before casting his blank blue eyes pointedly at him. “too perfectly.”

the edges of Erbluhen’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “then I have done my job.”

Arme says nothing.

Erbluhen uncovers the small bowl of tea leaves and empties it out for a fresh batch of jasmine. he pours the water in, washes it, and then again, waiting for a moment, before he pours the tea into their cups. he draws back, pinching the sleeve of his robe, takes his teacup into both hands, and lets the steam and the soothing scent of tea waft into his face.

“so what is your next assignment, Arme?”

“I do not need to discuss it with you.” Arme looks at his tea but does not touch it. his hands remain folded on his lap. poised. “I will not allow you to interfere with my plans again.”

Erbluhen chuckles, a fondness overcoming his expression. “if you did not want my help, why are you here?”

“to satisfy my superiors.”

Erbluhen eyes him carefully, taking a sip of tea. then he smiles, a knowing twist in his lips. “no, that is… not quite right, is it? if you were not looking for something, you would not have come here in the first place.”

Arme remains silent. his blue eyes are piercing, unreadable. Erbluhen takes a longer sip of tea, before lowering his empty cup to the table with a clack. he picks up the kettle to steep his tea and replaces it again onto the fire.

Arme opens his leather sack to lift out a small patterned drawstring bag. with intent, he places it gently on the tea table, before pulling his hands back. an offering.

Erbluhen looks at it, his smile kind, mysterious. “I cannot grant your wish, Arme.”

“I know,” Arme says. “but if I needed to see you, I may as well try.”

Erbluhen falls silent; his expression does not reach his eyes. he folds his fingers together on his lap and his bright green eyes harden, in judgment. his words are soft, relentless. “when will you abandon this flight of fancy, Arme? when it finally destroys you?”

Arme does not look at him. “I do not judge you for what you choose to do, Erblu.”

“did you not say it yourself? humans are frivolous– and so are their desires. so I do not understand why you insist on fulfilling this one’s,” Erbluhen says, picking up the lid of the tea bowl, nudging the leaves with it. sets it down again with a sigh. “well, I cannot stop you. I cannot make you understand the consequences of your actions. not then, and not now.”

Arme looks at him now, finally, his eyes still cool, cold.

then he says quietly, “no, I understand.” and Erbluhen blinks. Arme stands from the cushion, places his hand to the hilt of his sword. “but it appears that mere understanding is not enough.”

the cool of the breeze winds between the cracks of the door. the fire flickers, a warm light in the dimness, and it curdles their shadows into images against the screens. the birds begin their evening trill, and Arme’s gaze sets long onto the garden, before he turns away. “I will take my leave, Erblu.”

Erbluhen glances up at him and smiles again, mask tight over his face. “then I wish you well on your next endeavor, Arme.”

Arme steps out onto the threshold, firm against the wood. in the courtyard, he unties his horse from the post and pulls himself on. Erbluhen sits at the table, listening as the gallop of the horse fades away. the shadows in the house flicker, and he pours the tea into his cup, before bringing it to his lips.

“ah, it’s bitter,” Erbluhen says with a self-deprecating laugh. he places the cup onto the table again, before picking up the drawstring bag Arme left. he opens it carefully to find a few neatly packaged sweets nestled inside. when he unfolds one, a pink sugar blossom blooms in his hands. his eyes soften.

in the evening silence, the quiet steps hum against the wood. Erbluhen only smiles as a form manifests out from the shadows behind him, soot black arms curling around his shoulders. “he was here for you, Apos.”

Apostasia, a rogue assassin trained with the ranks of Xin. a spirit-like fae, half-formed of darkness, so agile and quick, that many do not believe he can possibly be human.

Erbluhen leans into his embrace and reaches over to press the sweet against Apostasia’s lips. a short pause, and Apostasia opens his mouth, accepts it. Erbluhen watches him taste it curiously. his green eyes are fond, reserved. “you know you cannot hide from him forever.”

Apostasia places his fingers over his lips, before he drapes himself over Erbluhen again. he lets his long gray hair fall into his face, hide his hollow green eyes. “I do not deserve his mercy.”

Erbluhen closes the bag and places it onto the table again. runs a hand gently through Apostasia’s long hair. “you did not deserve his sword.”

“I failed,” Apostasia answers simply. “and was punished. Arme merely dealt my punishment.”

Erbluhen sighs, reaches out to cradle a cup in his hands, brushes his thumb over the rim. “you _and_ Arme have to let this contrived nonsense _go_. duty, punishment– that is not the purpose of our existence. they are but human constructs and do not apply to us.”

Apostasia closes his eyes, rests his head against Erbluhen’s shoulder. “I cannot grant your wish, Erblu.”

“I know,” Erbluhen says, expression solemn. “but I would give up this existence for this selfishness of mine.”

Apostasia remains silent. the last of the sun dies on the mountaintops, consuming the hillside with twinkling darkness. in the warmth of the dark, Erbluhen asks, “will you go again?”

Apostasia nods his head against his shoulder, curls his fingers against the front of Erbluhen’s robe. “– give me the word and I will follow him.”

“you would go regardless of my answer. and I know I cannot ask you to stay.”

Apostasia lifts his head, but he says nothing.

“I only wish to protect you, Apos.” Erbluhen reaches up to cup Apostasia’s cheek. he presses a gentle kiss against Apostasia’s cold skin. Apostasia wraps his arms even tighter around him. “you _and_ Arme. why… why do you insist on serving those who will only use you?”

Apostasia does not answer. Erbluhen smiles, brokenly. he takes a sip of cold bitter tea and lets out a long breath, watches as the light of the fire paint the shadows onto the screen like foxes at a vigil. the white steam from the kettle curls into tendrils, disintegrates into the flickering shadows.

“they say beings such as ourselves can grant a human’s deepest desire,” Erbluhen chuckles softly. “but we cannot even grant our own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _On the deep spring days and freezing days of snow_  
>  I want to spend every moment of every day with you  
> These dyeing colors will continue ever onward  
> To see a landscape that no one has ever seen before
>> 
>> REOL - [宵々古今](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IK6eLTNV1k) | [lyrics](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/yoiyoi-kokon-%E5%AE%B5%E3%80%85%E5%8F%A4%E4%BB%8A-evenings-past-and-present.html) 
> 
> * * *
> 
> _foxgod!au notes:_
>
>> “heavenly spirits, descended from gods. they say if you find one, they’ll grant your deepest desire. they say if you save one, they’ll serve you for a lifetime.”
> 
> an Asian-historical version of Elrios, with a warring nations vibe (and many liberties taken). the Xin Empire, governing Fahrmann, and the Velder Kingdom, governing Lurensia, are at war over the possession of the El.
> 
> the fox spirits in this au are based on the benevolent Japanese _[kitsune](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune)_. they are celestial spirits capable of taking on human forms; with time, they become wiser, their power more potent. some are cunning, some are kind, but ultimately, they will test the worthiness of humans. where it has been met or exceeded, they will reward the human by granting their wish.
> 
> fox spirits do have limitations though: they cannot perform heavenly miracles, relying on purely human methods, and they are as mortal as any other being, though they live much longer than humans do. they are so elusive that even the tiniest rumor about them become legend.
> 
> all three Ains are fox spirits. they’ve known each other since they came into existence. until they were caught up in the humans’ war, they spent most of their time together, wandering the mountains of Fahrmann.
> 
>  _Erbluhen_ has a reputation as a seer, though he cannot actually see the future. he serves as a strategist, a tactician, a consultant. generals and commanders come to him seeking his advice, so it is not hard for him, with the depth of his knowledge of humans and their nature, to play one kingdom against another. of the three, Erblu understands humans the most, because he lived among them for a very long time.
> 
>  _Arme_ operates as a general under the commander of the Velder Army. his effectiveness lies in his raw strength and no-nonsense personality. unquestioningly loyal to the commander and his desire to restore the El, Arme doesn’t care about the intricacies of humanity, blindly obeying every command he’s given, until one day, he nearly kills Apos.
> 
>  _Apostasia_ served the Xin Empire, in an attempt to grant the wish of the Priestess of the Moon: that the El may continue to be protected. his power lies in his agility and his silence, so the Xin Empire found him to be an effective assassin. one day, when he’s ordered to eliminate the commander of the Velder Army, he finds Arme instead. Arme stops short of killing him and Apos manages to escape.  
> 
> 
> Apos hasn’t returned to the Xin Empire since then, preferring to stay with Erblu and hiding whenever Arme visits. Arme comes to Erblu’s house to see if Apos will forgive him, though he knows he doesn’t deserve Apos’s forgiveness. for his part, Apos doesn’t want to talk to Arme because he thinks Arme’s disappointed by his lack of conviction. Erblu thinks they’re both idiots and should stop being ridiculous. but he can’t stop them for wanting to serve the humans who saved them. after all, he’s been in the same position before.


	47. 60; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 60; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> the person Arme is hardest on is himself.

the memory of it plays over and over again in his mind. the new world he was thrown into, the second chance he was given--

he knows, this time he cannot fail.

so he doesn’t stop. because neither will the demons and their destruction. so from his hands come spear after spear, sword after sword. each pierce, each slice, each severance of the demon souls from their bodies.

he knows it is the strengthened dark El that revives this emotion. but still now, it unsettles his core.

when the last demon falls, he stumbles, struggles to sustain his celestial form. his light flickers stubbornly, but his energy is gone, drained by the howling gloom of the dark El.

but he can’t stop.

because he remembers how it exploded before him. how it shattered, eclipsed over his memories. twice now, when the El has became nothing, its shards rending the time-space suspending the worlds apart.

because he remembers himself falling, even though celestials, beings made of light, cannot fall. when his form became incorporeal once more, when he reached out for something to hold-- only to see his hand, and himself, shatter into nothingness.

because he remembers the emptiness that surrounded him. the emotion he still feels and the emotion he still cannot destroy, the emotion he never understood until he heard its name spoken-- _helplessness_.

so he will fight it.

when he looks at the shard of El curling with the depth of corruption, its tendrils parting the gates of the demon world, he closes his eyes, summons the very last of his strength into the sword the goddess granted him. it hums with immense power even as his form cracks.

because he knows he cannot fail again.

“Arme, stop--”

that name. that voice. but he can’t stop. a warm hand catches his wrist and pulls his form to the ground.

an embrace, steady and calm. an aura that pulsates with the twin powers of the divine and El. pries gently into his mind, lays his thoughts bare.

it can only be Erblu who says, “Arme, it is enough.”

it is not enough. and it will never be _enough_. he tries to pull his hand away, but Erblu’s hold is stubborn, insistent.

“don’t do this to yourself, Arme. _stop_.”

but he _can’t_. he clenches his hand tightly and his sword shatters into divine light. the crystals particles rise, melt into the shroud of dark El. heavy liquid drops fall like tears from his eyes.

he realizes, the emotion stirring within him-- he’s _shattering_.

“Arme,” and the hug tightens around him. “it’s okay now. you’ve done so much already.”

_“it isn’t enough. it wasn’t_ enough _.”_

“Arme.” Erblu turns him around, finally, catches that heavy liquid with his thumb. smiles gently, radiates even though there are clear tears in those green eyes. “it is. stop thinking about the past. you’re here with me now.”

he does not answer, but those eyes can read his thoughts, read his emotions, and they are piercing, pleading with him.

“it’s enough-- more than enough. all the things you have done for this world. it is _enough_.”

Erblu gathers the sparkling crystals floating in the air. fuses it with his El, touches upon the cracks in Arme’s celestial form. Erblu wraps an arm around him, places a hand over Arme’s chest, his core. the energy in his hand pulses with care, emotion.

“Arme, listen to me.” the emotion in his voice is careful, soft. “stop. _rest_. it’s what you always tell me to do, isn’t it? take your own advice and rest.”

Arme closes his eyes, places his forehead onto Erblu’s shoulder. Erblu’s arms curl around him more, fingers tracing the shimmering glow bubbling out of Arme’s form.

“you’ve been trying so hard and you’ve done so much. the goddess has already forgiven you, Arme. so please-- please forgive _yourself_.”

this comfort. he doesn’t understand it. but Erblu doesn’t stop embracing him and doesn’t let him go. Arme feels in the distance of his mind the gate of the demons splutter close. he feels, in this cradle of healing, his form fade and his consciousness slip away.

“Arme--”

-

when he wakes, it’s like his form alighting onto the physical plane. he opens his eyes slowly, as if it’s been a long time since he has, and when he collects the traces of El around him, he understands.

Erblu lays beside him, eyes closed in rest. he isn’t sleeping and his aura is closed, unreadable. but there are dried tears on his cheek. Arme opens up his hand, sees celestial light still reforming his fingers, his celestial form still transparent, weak. Erblu blinks his eyes open, before giving him a soft smile.

“... you’re back.”

when Erblu hugs him, Arme doesn’t push him away. the solid warmth that surrounds him isn’t the coldness of the void that he’s come to know so well. it is the warmth that surrounded him as he rested, when he was a mere ball of light.

Arme recognizes it now. the one who called him back from the abyss this time. so he raises his fingers to trace them through Erblu’s hair and closes his eyes.

“hm, Arme?”

_“... thank you.”_

for a moment, Erblu is silent, surprised. then he asks, “Arme, do you remember when I asked you why you were here?”

he doesn’t. at least not right now-- his memories are a fog still, colored only by emotions he doesn’t want to understand.

“I… realized. the goddess sent you here-- to help me. all the knowledge and power you gathered in your world-- you used it to help me. even though you lost your world, you still have mine. so don’t--” and Erblu’s voice cracks. “-- don’t think that you failed, Arme. because you didn’t.”

Erblu’s grasp tightens. his emotions flow through him, unfiltered like a stream through his form. Arme doesn’t know any of them, but Erblu places his head against his shoulder, and he knows what this means.

so Arme reaches out, wraps his arms around him.

“Arme?”

it’s warm. Arme closes his eyes, feels himself drift in the calm serenity. this feeling-- that he wants to be nowhere else. this feeling-- when he knows Erblu’s warmth is _enough_.

… when did he begin to feel this way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from 35:
>
>> he understands. this feeling, this emotion– in the moment the El shattered and he was left floating aimlessly within the chaos. in the moment, when the frustration, the doubt, the rage that threatened to take hold, he destroyed the part of him that still yearned irrationally to _feel_. and he survived.  
>   
> 
>
>> “if you want to be released from this chaos,” he says, “then you must forgive yourself.”
>> 
>> for failing his mission. for losing his purpose. for allowing a perfect celestial existence to be corrupted by humanity.  
> 
>
>>   
> let the one who is blameless cast the first stone.  
> 
> 
> I’ve hinted at it a few times before, but the reason my Arme is kind to Erblu and Apos (to the extent this dork can be kind anyway) is that he understands the concept of failure. he knows that he can’t be perfect, because there’s still a part of him that is human, that is irrational, spontaneous, and unpredictable. and if he can’t expect perfection from himself, it’s unreasonable for him to expect it from anyone else.
> 
> but it doesn’t stop him from holding himself to impossible standards. it doesn’t stop him from trying to be perfect. because ultimately, he’s still a celestial sent by Ishmael, he still has a mission to complete. he can’t afford to fail.


	48. 61; arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 61; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> they rest.

he feels it first, like prickling pins padding cautiously against his bubble of circulating energy. Arme opens his eyes just barely, sees the window swaying slowly open. if he didn’t know, he’d have snapped himself out of this form, drawn out a sword from his projection magic in defense.

but he knows what it is– _who_ it is. so he stays still.

hesitantly, a hovering presence enters his sphere of energy. his hands, held out on his lap, curl in warning, and he pauses his cycling when the presence comes to rest at his side, nudges softly into his neck. it’s like ice, but his form doesn’t react.

“Arme.” a soft whisper. Arme doesn’t answer, only lowering his head slightly, this form too weak to resonate his celestial voice.

Apos tangles his fingers into his and Arme lets him, lets Apos press his head gently against his temple. time and solace has allowed Apos to become better at controlling his power, his chaos, even though he cannot reach the goddess anymore. so Apos takes it from Arme instead, his fingers fluttering lightly over his white skin, drawing the power of the divine like spooling threads. his touch only chills him now, with a consuming strangeness.

a nip at his ear, before a nuzzle into his neck again. when Arme opens his eyes, Apos is staring at him, his green eyes blank. Apos presses his head against Arme’s shoulder and stays there, silent.

so Arme pulls one hand away from Apos’s and places it tenderly on Apos’s head. Apos blinks slowly, but doesn’t visibly react, as Arme combs his fingers through his long gray strands, picking out a few pieces of twigs and leaves. Apos eventually comes to nestle into his touch, kneeling next to him, humming contently.

Arme closes his eyes, allows Apos to rest within his aura.

after a while, a familiar warmth spills into the room, stirs the air as it exudes the life energy of El. Arme cracks open his eyes to see Erblu slip into the room, closing the door carefully behind him, and give him a fond smile. Apos has slumped against Arme’s side, fast asleep, but Arme remains tense in his celestial form, tiny shards of heavenly power suspended around them like glass crystals.

Erblu taps quietly to the bedside, tucks his warm fingers in Arme’s cold ones. with his other hand, he makes a small gesture, mouths a command, infusing Arme’s aura green with Rein. Arme looks at him blankly, his celestial aura recoiling in objection, but Erblu buries his hand into Arme’s white-blue strands, nudges his face into his hair affectionately, and waits. waits until Arme’s comfortable letting Erblu take over his healing. finally, Arme relaxes, allows his energy to dissipate into a shimmering haze. Apos blinks when he notices the switch, Erblu’s energy a warmer, more welcoming blanket than Arme’s.

“Erblu.”

“hey, Apos. sorry for waking you.” Erblu shifts, leans over Arme to press a light kiss to Apos’s temple. he brushes Apos’s hair from his face and Apos nudges into his touch, bumping his head softly against Erblu’s, settling into Arme’s presence again. Arme only watches Apos silently, in reserved confusion, and Erblu chuckles, reaches over for the neatly folded blankets and shakes them out. pulls over the both of them and tucks them in. even though neither Arme and Apos need it, it’s something Erblu likes doing anyway.

when he’s done, Erblu crawls in next to Arme, rests his head on Arme’s lap, and rubs his forehead against him, until Arme learns to curl his fingers into his hair. Erblu makes a small, satisfied sound, his Eids humming a happy, sleepy melody.


	49. 62; executor / anpassen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 62; Lofty Executor / Lofty Anpassen
> 
> Anpassen finds out Executor has wings. tiny little wings.

Anpassen has to blink again, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. there are wings, a pair of tiny, white wings fluttering out of the space behind Executor’s back. he’s not sure when he approaches, but Executor stiffens when he places a hand over the curve of a glowing wing.

it is soft, he confirms.

Executor’s lance disappears from his hand. when Anpassen looks up, Executor’s celestial blue eyes are cold, betraying just the slightest annoyance. Anpassen briefly wonders why Executor hasn’t snapped at him yet, before remembering the other celestial dislikes speaking while in his celestial form.

Executor mentioned something about it before. his voice resonates too loudly, hearing it echo was distracting, and only demons were worth the effort. Anpassen remembers being hurt that Executor didn’t think _he_ was worth it, but he shrugged it off quickly enough. this is Executor after all.

when Anpassen doesn’t pull away, the celestial veil around Executor disappears, the glimmering blue glow blinking out instantly. Executor turns around, fixes him with one of his signature glares. Anpassen returns it with a smile, playful.

“Anpassen, what were you doing.”

it’s not even a question. Executor knows exactly what Anpassen was doing. 

“your wings are different,” Anpassen says. “it’s because you’re relying on the goddess more, right?”

Executor frowns. not in displeasure, but in confusion. “why is it a surprise? you have wings too.” then he pauses, knits his brow. “right?”

oh. right. Executor has never actually seen his celestial form.

“well, it’s not the same. I mean…”

Anpassen shifts on his feet, before allowing himself to tap into his celestial power briefly. Executor watches him silently as a soft green glow surrounds him, a divine chill touched by the warmth of the El. _“see? it’s not like yours.”_

Anpassen stops, realizing his voice projected without the need to open his mouth. Anpassen spins upon his feet, slowly adjusts himself again to his celestial form. looks behind him at his wings, at the few crystalline petals blooming from the glyphs. it’s been awhile since he actually used this form he’s nearly forgotten how light it was.

a cool hand folds over a fragile petal, and Anpassen flinches at the contact. _“hey–”_

“payback,” Executor says simply, and Anpassen wonders where the other celestial learned of that human concept. Executor isn’t showing any emotion on his face though, slowly drawing a finger along the edge of the crystal petal. so Anpassen holds still, waits as Executor examines it. his touch is surprisingly gentle, albeit cold.

“it’s made of El,” Executor remarks. “it seems your existence has accepted El as its primary source of energy.”

Anpassen nods, lets his wings tickle Executor’s fingers. his aura pulses with the strength of his emotion, warm, tingling, spreads through his core. he wonders absently if Executor can feel it. if Executor knows what it is. because Anpassen isn’t sure either.

eventually, Executor takes his hand away and Anpassen releases his celestial aura with a long sigh. being in his full celestial form drains him, more so than before. Anpassen falls to the ground, the gravity pulling the weight of his human form familiarly, and looks up to Executor, who’s still staring at him, eyes carefully blank.

Anpassen smiles at him and Executor turns away, a faint flush on his face. what’s the word for this? flustered? is Executor flustered?

“anyway, I was in the middle of something,” Executor says flatly. “if you insist on following me, stop distracting me.”

Anpassen pouts a little, as Executor closes his eyes to ascend to his celestial form again, divine power wrapping around him. Anpassen moves to hover next to him, watching as Executor casts his energy out, starts probing the area with his aura. Anpassen sees those tiny wings unfurl behind Executor again.

they’re cute, Anpassen thinks. touches them gently.

_“Anpassen!”_

his voice reverberates across the clearing and Anpassen leaps backward before Executor can stab him with a projection weapon.

“okay, sorry, sorry,” Anpassen laughs. “I won’t do it again.”

Executor only look at him with those distant celestial eyes, clearly unamused, and Anpassen grins. without another word, Executor darts off into the shadows of the forest again, tiny wings sweeping the air into a gust behind him. Anpassen lets the wind of his El infuse his steps, before taking off behind Executor.

because this time, Executor didn’t tell him not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _celestial!headcanons:_
> 
> Ain’s celestial form has two primary states, based on his awakening mechanic ingame: full celestial form (with wings) and a weakened form (no wings). by default, when Ain activates his celestial form, he enters his full celestial form, if he has enough energy to sustain it. if he doesn’t, he enters his weakened state instead. he’ll also automatically enter his weakened state when he doesn’t have enough energy to sustain his human form. in order to recover his energy, he cycles/circulates the goddess’s energy around him. Apos does this with Henir/chaos energy instead. Arme is the only one who can control which state he enters, since he has a finer control over how much celestial power he wants to use. and Erblu doesn’t like circulating his energy, preferring to recover El the human way, through eating and sleeping.
> 
> I use this headcanon in most of my fics that’s set in canon, but I probably deviate here and there.
> 
> for Anpassen and Executor specific:
> 
> Anpassen’s wings are base Ain’s, with a few crystalline El petals attached to to the glyphs on each side. the petals become larger and his glyph becomes smaller, rounder, warmer, as his Eid become stronger and he becomes more comfortable with the El, becoming Erblu. but as Anpassen, he isn’t comfortable in either his human form and celestial form. his celestial form has become harder for him to control, since it tries to fold a foreign energy into his divine form. accessing his full celestial form exhausts him more than it used to. 
> 
> Anpassen prefers being his human form because it’s easier to use when it’s in stasis, though it also means he’ll have to deal with human emotions. he doesn’t mind it so much though.
> 
> Executor’s base wings are completely replaced by a pair of small white wings. they’re small, because although he relies almost solely on his celestial power, he’s still subconsciously limiting himself from accessing his full power. the more he uses his celestial power, the bigger the wings get. he only has a single pair of wings until he breaks his final limiter, eliminating his human emotions, becoming Arme.
> 
> unlike Anpassen, Executor’s completely at ease with his celestial form, since it’s made of purely the goddess’s power. and he cycles his energy more often than Anpassen does, so he almost always has access to his full celestial form. he doesn’t like being in his human form, but he will when he has to. but the emotions are annoying.


	50. 63; executor / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 63; Lofty Executor / Lofty Wander
> 
> the Altar of Dedication collapses around him. he pushes on anyway.

it hurts.

Wander digs his fingers into his broken arm, tucks himself in a crack of the tower. it continues to rain boulders, each rattling the floor as they crash. the boulder that caught his arm sits to the side, shakes with the rumbling of the demon army several floors above. he feels only the pain flaring up his arm, stab like needles into his core.

the chaos comes like a creeping liquid, soaks his arm in pitch blackness. its paralyzing chill is a numbness he’s not sure he wants. he rests his head against the stone wall, his breath stuttering as he heaves. the chaos tears him and mends him– at least, restores his form that has been ripped apart so many times.

it hurts. but there’s a reason why he’s here.

so he struggles to stand again, staggers blindly into the crumbling hallway. when he reaches the wall of demons, he raises spikes of darkness against them with a single wave of his arm– and moves on. the demons are irrelevant to him. he is here to find something– some _one_. 

when the foundation falls out from below his feet, he lets the chaos fold around him, pull him up with the strain of delicate wings in black water. when he looks up, he thinks he can see a bright blue light at the top of the tower, radiate with power. but then the ceiling caves in and the stones holding up the ancient tower fall.

the sky outside is pitch black.

-

when he wakes up, he feels a flicker of energy tugging gently at his form. it’s alive, curls with emotion. cold. when his eyes flutter open, he sees bright green eyes staring back at him. flash with judgment.

“I told you not to follow me.”

Executor’s words are sharp and Wander looks away. Executor frowns, shifts Wander’s limp body to rest him on his lap, settles his cool aura protectively around them. they’re sitting against a slab of stone, a part of the tower that fell into the earth, the night creaking quiet except for the hollow winds through the ruins. Wander can see a few deep cracks on Executor’s face and blue blood of the demons staining in his pure white clothes. the edge of Executor’s form shimmers– like fragile glass.

Executor hasn’t healed himself yet, Wander realizes. he’s using his energy to heal Wander instead.

so with his broken hand, Wander pushes Executor away. Executor recoils, by the corruption threaded around his fingers, and Wander tries to pulls himself away. but the pain returns, all at once, and Wander collapses to the ground, gasping breathlessly. the chaos ravages his form, deep within his core, pulls him into the abyss of his mind.

then it’s there again, a careful touch against his chest. a hand folds around his good arm, pulls him up. solid, precise. he opens his eyes, vision blotted, blurry, the barest of shapes floating in the darkness. he feels the fingers rest against his cheek, before resting over his eyes, encourages them to close.

it’s a strange power that surrounds him like a cocoon, pushes away the threads of chaos so it doesn’t drown him in agony again. it’s a power he knows he’s had himself before, one he’s lost so long ago he’s forgotten how it feels. it’s soothing. calming. it’s Executor. Wander doesn’t have the strength to push him away again.

the feeling in his body returns slowly. he curls his fingers into his palm weakly, before opening his eyes. Executor’s laying his head against the stone wall, absently tracing his finger over the cracks in Wander’s untainted skin. Executor’s human form is still flickering– would have disintegrated but for Executor’s impossibly strong will. flecks of blue light float in the air around them like the stars that dot the cavern of the night sky.

“you don’t have to stay,” Wander says quietly. “you should go back.”

Executor’s eyes harden. stubborn. “and leave you here?”

Wander glances away, doesn’t answer. he reaches out his hand to curl his fingers around one of the crystals floating near them, and it darkens, soiled by his chaos. he closes his hand around it, pulls his hand against his chest. lowers his head in silence. even with Executor’s kindness, nothing has changed. it still only gets worse.

“why…” Wander asks, his voice a hollow softness. “why did you come for me?” 

“the same reason that you follow me,” Executor says simply. “you don’t know when to stop.”

Wander opens his eyes, looks up at the other celestial. Executor’s expression is pensive, pondering. it’s revealing, those words, because Executor doesn’t know when to stop either. Executor always ventures off alone and Wander always follows him, to make sure Executor doesn’t get hurt.

Executor breaks their gaze, but his fingers tighten around Wander’s right arm. “let me take care of it. just– rest. Wander.”

Wander feels something beat from within his body. so Executor worries for him too. – but Executor shouldn’t worry about him.

Wander rests his head against Executor’s shoulder, closes his eyes with a shallow breath. Executor doesn’t move, doesn’t react, only continuing to cycle his power around them. holds him steady in his presence, his energy tempering the chaos.

if Executor wants to give him this solace, if it means Executor will stop fighting and _stay_ , then Wander will take it.  



	51. 64; arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 64; Arme Thaumaturgy, Erbluhen Emotion, Apostasia
> 
> they relax at the hot springs.

the water is warm. when he raises his fingers from the water, the mist clings to his skin in a not unwelcome way. he feels maybe, if it scalded, then the darkness of his skin will fade away. disappear completely.

maybe it is too much to ask of this world.

“just relax, Apos. hot springs are for relaxing.”

a yawned mumble. fingers gently catch his, sinks it back into the water. Erblu nuzzles into his neck sleepily, arms draped around Apos’s neck, floating gently in the water above his lap. Arme rests next to him, eyes closed, arms crossed in front of him. the steam of the water tickles Apos’s nose, fresh water tumbling into the pool from the pool above it. sparkles of Rein Eid surround them like illuminated crystals, like tiny lanterns. they blink, start to fade into the brightening sky.

it’s dawn, the sun just peeking over the ridge of the horizon, coloring the clouds a bright pink. the water of these hot springs too shimmers with a soft glow, bubbling over with tranquility. in the early morning, the pools are devoid of people, and Apos is glad for it. glad to be alone with the only two who don’t judge him. glad to be with the two who care for him very much.

Apos hears a splash, glances over to see Arme soak a towel into the water and reaches over to wipe at Erblu’s forehead with it. Erblu snores as an answer, fast asleep, inevitably from exhaustion, and Arme frowns.

Arme lowers the towel into the water again, this time reaching over to wipe Apos’s forehead. then he opens up the towel to place it on Apos’s head. Apos blinks past the rivulets of water drip down his face, as Arme brings Apos’s braided hair over his shoulder and out of the water. 

“just so your head won’t freeze,” Arme says simply. “and Erblu shouldn’t be sleeping here.” he touches Erblu’s hair gently and Erblu stirs, doesn’t wake. Arme wets another towel, this time placing it over Erblu’s shoulders. Erblu holds Apos tighter in his sleep, mumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

Arme pulls away from both of them and is about to stand, when Apos grabs his hand underwater, eyes him blankly. Arme’s hand radiates a celestial strength, but through the water, it blurs with the warmth. Apos isn’t sure whether this warmth is from the heat of the springs or from him. or, and most likely, from Erblu.

eventually, Arme relents, settling down next to him again. slowly, Apos leans over to press his chin on Arme’s shoulder, curling his fingers around Arme’s, and closes his eyes. he sinks himself into the water that cradles him, dips into every scar on his body.

“… don’t fall asleep too, Apos,” Arme says. “I can’t carry the both of you back.”

“… but it’s nice,” Apos says. he feels his own power, as threads of chaos, reach out through the warm water, slowed, weakened. Arme shifts a little when he notices it, before finally twining his fingers between his. Apos feels a gentle touch at the back of his head, secure, before Arme sighs, a bit resigned. moves his free hand to Apos’s ear, tucks a strand of hair behind it.

“a few more minutes then. if Erblu wants to sleep, he should sleep on a proper bed.”

Apos only hums in reply, content.


	52. 65; (angel!au) arme / apos (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 65; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapons technology company. Apos is his bodyguard. Arme doesn’t really need one, as he’s fully capable of protecting himself; he just uses it as an excuse to keep Apos around him all the time.) Arme deals with an assassination attempt his own way.
> 
> related: 48

Apos’s left index finger is twitching.

it’s a tell. Apos has quite a few of them. in the year Apos has been with him, Arme’s figured out what a number of them mean. shifting on his feet signals discomfort. curling all his fingers shows his restlessness.

a single finger– usually one on his left hand– foreshadows intent.

Arme stands, arms crossed, at the woman’s side, as she slowly loads the rifle, deliberate. Apos’s gaze doesn’t move from her, blank green with unreadable depth. but his finger twitches again. so Arme sweeps his eyes toward her too.

she’s a member of the underground city of Elves. she came to _Arme Thaumaturgy_ to request a rifle demonstration and, of course, received it. _Thaumaturgy_ does not refuse a display of strength. her name escapes him, but her sharp violet eyes pierce when she notices him observing her. stone.

no, perhaps, he does remember. the shattering of glass when it was too dark to see outside his office. the sounds of shots when Arme reached for the gun he keeps under his desk. Apos refusing to sleep that night, his adrenaline and paranoia running high.

so Arme lets it happen.

Apos reacts quicker than she does. Arme steps back calmly when Apos knocks the rifle out of her hands and thrusts a crystal blade into the side of her neck. the rifle clatters onto the tile floor as Apos knees her in the stomach, pins her against the table, his glass green eyes shining– and then he stops.

waiting. Arme uncrosses his arms to pick up the rifle. a few clacks, her wheezing breaths, and he unloads the rounds. pure black spheres, unlike the blue crystal bullets _Thaumaturgy_ provided her. sleight of hand– the assassins of Elves are particular masters of it.

the bullets are heavy in his hand. there are very few makers of bullets of this weight, but many who choose it as their weapon. when Arme looks up at her face, he sees black veins bulging around her eyes, bloodshot. the shadow of the veins glow, blue.

Apos is still, unmoving. Arme makes no move to call him off as he normally does. as the clock ticks, he can see emotion curling in those hollow green eyes when Apos understands too. Arme doesn’t have much time.

so Arme open the case, puts the rifle away, and snaps it shut. from a drawer, he takes out a piece of paper, lets the bullets roll onto the sheet, before folding it into a small package.

she looks to speak, but Arme says absently, placing the bullets in his suit pocket. “don’t waste your breath. I’m not interested.”

Apos’s blade digs deeper and she gasps, inhaling sharply. when Arme tilts his head, Apos finally drops her and she collapses, grasping the bloody wound in her neck with a shaky hand. resilient. Arme can see Apos rub a finger along the blunt edge of the blade, as it drips wet with blood and clear liquid. it’s impatience, pitched restlessness. it itches. but he can’t allow Apos to kill anymore.

so he takes out a package of gauze from the drawer too, tears it open, and kneels to press it over her bleeding wound. he stands. “you have half an hour. I’ll leave your fate to the one who sent you.”

her eyes flash darkly and Arme can’t help but feel an emotion flare within him. he’s not sure what it is– doesn’t understand. doesn’t want to understand. the woman spits out venom. “you– underestimate me.”

perhaps he did. perhaps he had. but Apos does not.

Apos catches her hand before she can lunge at Arme, fingers squeezing until her bones in her hand shatter. the knife in her hand drops to the ground, snaps when it collides with the concrete. the veins around her eyes is pulsating, an eerie blue.

when Arme meets Apos’s eyes, Apos lets go, an unnerving emptiness in his expression. Arme can see the veins on Apos’s left hand glow as his fingers twitch around his knife. those veins are an unnatural blue. the same blue.

Arme casts his eyes to the crumpled form on the ground, still struggling to move despite the poison. her eyes are consumed by pure hatred. he’s out of time. she underestimates him too. he gives second chances– he doesn’t give a third.

five minutes later, Vanessa enters the room, clicks her tongue as she surveys the scene. Arme is leaning his back absently against the table, spinning a blood-stained knife in his hand. Apos is standing in front of him, head lowered onto Arme’s shoulder, right index finger toying with Arme’s suit button. the woman lying on the ground is still.

“sorry, Vanessa,” Arme says, not at all apologetic. he places the knife onto the glass table with a clack. “she gave me no other choice.”

Vanessa holds up her phone to mutter, “medical, stat,” before turning to look at Arme, a brow arched in mild annoyance. “would it kill you to call back up sooner, kiddo? this is the third time this happened this _month_.”

“I can handle it,” Arme says, tilting his head to nudge against Apos’s. Apos shifts, glances over at Vanessa blankly, before pulling away from Arme, conscious of her gaze. Arme takes Apos’s left hand and Apos closes his hollow eyes, wrapping his fingers around Arme’s. with his other hand, Arme fishes out his phone, checks the time. “the meeting is in two hours. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Vanessa looks up from where she’s crouched next to the woman, checking her pulse.

“car’s in the basement lot,” Vanessa says, and then she adds, frowning, “it’s not too late to take a security detail.”

Arme shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

“I swear, your stubbornness will bite you in the ass someday. anyway, I’ll have the whole department on standby,” Vanessa says, standing up, fixing her sharp eyes on Arme. “call me if anything happens.” then more gently, to Apos, “call me if this knucklehead won’t.”

Apos blinks his eyes open slowly, before fixing her with a blank gaze. he nods, but Arme can feel Apos’s hand tighten around his.

anxious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **angel!au** (one day this au title will make sense):
> 
> _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of a weapons technology company of the same name. literally _weapon maker_. he’s curiously adept at handling weapons and notoriously terrible at interacting with people. no one knows much about his past except that he was a former government operative.
> 
> _Apos_ is just Apos. he recognizes no other name. he’s technically Arme’s bodyguard, but his training is actually in assassination. he has a hard time thinking about doing anything but, which is why Arme keeps Apos around him constantly. Apos comes off as soulless and terrifying, and Arme’s the only person who isn’t afraid of him. all Apos wants are hugs from Arme.
> 
> the NPCs:
> 
> _Vanessa_ is the head of the Protection Services department, the branch of _Arme Thaumaturgy_ that trains agents and contracts out security services. she’s glad Arme finally decided to hire an official bodyguard, but with how reckless Arme is, she still worries. she’s one of the few people in the company who calls him something other than Arme.
> 
> the assassin mentioned is _Chloe_. she’s from the city of Elves. located below Velder City, Elves used to be an ancient metropolis, now fallen, whatever government they still have in complete shambles. most former residents of Elves end up working for various businesses above ground.  
> 


	53. 66; (angel!au) arme / apos (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 66; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapons technology company. Apos is his bodyguard. Arme doesn’t really need one, as he’s fully capable of protecting himself; he just uses it as an excuse to keep Apos around him all the time.) Arme meets with the administrators of _Henir_.
> 
> related: 48 | part one: 65

Apos says nothing on the drive into town, leaning his head against the window, peering out at the passing scenery. harsh industrial lots give way to soft suburbs before they wander into the towering skyscrapers of downtown Velder. Arme has given Apos his coat and Apos is grasping it absently, slowly calming down.

the veins on Apos’s hands still glow the faintest of blue.

Arme didn’t miss the look Apos gave him when Arme washed their blades. or the look that Apos gave him when Arme ripped the knife from the woman’s chest. but Arme knows what fear looks like on Apos’s face.

Apos doesn’t ask questions.

Arme leans back in the seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel. out of the corner of his eye, Arme watches Apos carefully as he says, “you don’t need to come, Apos. I can take you home first.”

and Apos lifts his head, blinking slowly. “I’ll come,” he says quietly. no hesitation. Apos curls his hands into the coat on his lap and closes his eyes. collecting himself. “it’s my job. I need to protect you.”

it’s a simple statement. Arme wonders why he’s surprised. because on the papers and to Apos, Apos is Arme’s bodyguard.

but Apos doesn’t need to protect him. Arme never asked him too.

Arme sets his eyes back onto the road.

-

for certain customers, Arme usually reserves a conference room in a quiet, nondescript hotel; a neutral ground for both parties, with assured confidentiality. as they wait for assistance, Arme adjusts his cuffs to his suit, calmly securing the knife within his sleeve. Apos stands next to him, his hollow green eyes staring at each guest entering the lobby through the revolving doors, hands curling around empty air. Arme absently wonders if he should have just left Apos his coat for the duration of his meeting.

though more layers make it easier to hide his knives.

the conference room is a medium-sized, second floor room, overlooking the distant city skyline. an oval table seating six, a projector stand and podium at one end. it’s sparsely decorated otherwise, a few potted plants along the large glass window. when the door closes behind him, Arme checks the lock with a quick shake, before walking toward the outside edge of the room, fixing his eyes along the ceiling. Arme checks the plants too, tipping the pots over slightly with his foot. Apos watches him, slightly curious, as Arme approaches the conference table, kneels eye level with the table to check for hidden objects.

old habits die hard.

“Arme. a pleasure to see you again.”

Apos looks up first, then away. Arme stands up to greet the two men at the door. the older man gives him a toothy smile, his eyes a sunken red, his wrinkled blue-veined hands grasping his cane. the younger man fixes his yellow-gold pupils on Arme, then Apos, and chuckles, before he sweeps the room just as Arme did. Arme gestures toward the chair opposite of him, addresses the administrator of the Henir organization.

“Luto.”

“Arme.” a serene smile, and Luto takes his seat. against his instincts, so does Arme. Apos remains standing, hovering over Arme’s shoulder, vigilant. the other man finishes his examination of the room, before returning to stand behind Luto. calm, at ease. his name is Glave. Arme knows him– he’s the one who usually handles their contracts. Helen is _Thaumaturgy_ ’s contact, and most times, Arme lets her take care of it.

this isn’t most times.

out of the corner of his eye, Arme can see Apos shift from one foot to the other.

Arme starts, “the contract between Thaumaturgy and Henir is up at the end of this month. I have decided I would like to add a new provision.”

“oh?” the smile has not moved off those lips.

“moving forward, should another Henir agent make an attempt on my life, I will unilaterally terminate our contract.”

those red eyes flash, wizened with age, but Arme doesn’t back down.

“right to the ultimatum,” Luto chuckles. “exactly what I expect from you, Arme. but since your last call, we have not sent any of our agents after you. in fact, the last time I personally ordered a hit on your life was over a year ago. I’m sure you remember it well, Arme.”

a crinkle in those eyes. Arme ignores it. “this afternoon, I encountered a woman with features distinct to your organization. are you saying she wasn’t sent by Henir?”

and Luto’s lips curve into a mysterious smile. “the power of suggestion works wonders, Arme.”

Arme narrows his eyes. “then, if I may suggest, killing a business partner is a counterproductive strategy.”

“Henir is not simply a business, Arme. and you are not simply a business partner.” Luto folds his hands on the table in front of him, his gaze probing, analyzing. there is a slyness on his lips. “you are not so different from us, Arme.”

“and? it doesn’t give you the license to kill me.”

“intractable as usual.” Luto smiles. “I will concede for now. it is not in Henir’s interest to disrupt one of our primary weapon supply chains. shall we meet again next week to sign the revised contract?”

“there is no need. you have my word,” Arme says curtly. he won’t allow Luto to have his way twice. “Helen will take care of the contract on our end.”

“that will do. thank you for entertaining this meeting for me, Arme. I know you dislike seeing this old man face to face,” Luto says. Arme remains silent. the administrator leans back in his chair, with almost an air of wistfulness. “it really is such a shame you retired, Arme. you could be making much more than you are now with your little project. our clients would pay millions for the services of the _Executor_.”

Arme doesn’t flinch. his words are ice. “ _Executor_ no longer exists.”

“a shame, truly,” Luto says, a wry smile curling on his lips. then his gaze shifts, lands on Apos. Arme glances to Apos too, watching Apos curl his hand around the back of Arme’s chair, his knuckles white with strain. a trace of amusement in gleams Luto’s red eyes. “has it been a year already? I’m glad to see Arme has trained you into such an obedient puppy, little _Aposta_ –”

the knife barely misses Luto’s hand, stabbing instead into the table with an empty thunk. Arme feels his right hand bleed, the knife’s sharp edge slicing into his palm. Apos’s hand trembles, but his green eyes are fixed on the blade, on the dark blue blood dripping down its edge. his expression is blank, lifeless.

hollow.

Luto merely chuckles. “now I understand why you failed your last mission, _Apostasia_.”

before Apos can try again, Arme grabs the crystal blade and wrenches it from Apos’s loosened grip. he stands, takes Apos’s shoulder in his other hand, squeezes his upper arm carefully. Apos doesn’t respond, staring blankly at the table.

Arme doesn’t look at Luto, doesn’t look at Glave. but he doesn’t need to. he knows they are both smiling. an emotion boils in his chest– the same emotion from before.

one year wasn’t enough.

“we are done here, Luto.”

without another word, Arme takes Apos’s hand and pulls him out of the room.

-

on the drive back, Apos has curled himself up on the car seat, holding his knees to his chest. Arme has draped his coat over him and Apos fiddles with the sleeve of it periodically, though his eyes still are empty.

Arme holds the bloody gauze between the wound on his hand and the steering wheel. it stopped bleeding a while ago, his blood congealing around his wound. the knife he took from Apos has been wrapped in a clean rag, tucked into a cup holder. it gleams with a clear liquid.

it’s not until they’re secure in Arme’s apartment that Arme relaxes, turns Apos to face him. his eyes search Apos’s blank green ones, before Arme pulls him close to him. instinctively, Apos leans in, places his head against Arme’s neck, his breathing soft, fluttering. Arme tucks an arm around his back, to soothe, comfort him.

eventually Apos stirs, pulls back to catch Arme’s wounded hand. his fingers trace the open cut absently, carefully. his eyes are still empty, but Apos looks up at him and glances away.

“I’ll be fine,” Arme says. because it’s true.

Apos slumps into his shoulder, hand curling to hold Arme’s wrist limply. finally finds his voice. “I failed you.”

“you didn’t.”

“I let you get hurt,” Apos mutters. and then adds, his voice a broken whisper, “I hurt you.”

“you didn’t,” Arme asserts. “I hurt myself.”

but Apos won’t look at him. “you wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t there.”

“Apos.” and Arme places his left hand on Apos’s cheek, turns his face to meet Apos’s eyes. “it’s something I wanted to do.”

Apos is silent. Arme takes his hand, rubs his thumb over the curling, pulsing veins under his scarred skin.

“… say it again, Arme.” and when Arme blinks in confusion, Apos curls his fingers around Arme’s hand carefully. “the name you call me.”

“Apos?”

Apos nods and rests his head against Arme’s shoulder. his heart calms, a beat slower. Arme holds him silently, rubbing his back soothingly, until Apos relaxes, shifting to wrap his arms around Arme’s waist.

“I like that name,” Apos says quietly, closes his eyes.

Arme feels an emotion stirring within him, familiar, unrelenting. he knows this feeling, but he has never understood it. but he doesn’t suppress it either.

he knows. he needs to protect Apos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **angel!au** (one day this au title will make sense):
> 
>  _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of a weapons technology company of the same name. literally _weapon maker_. he’s curiously adept at handling weapons and notoriously awful at interacting with people. no one knows much about his past except that he was a former government operative. the few that do knew him as the _Executor_.
> 
>  _Apos_ was formerly _Apostasia_ , an agent contracted with the mysterious organization, _Henir_. but he no longer recognizes that name. Apos met Arme after his last mission a year ago; since then, he has stayed by Arme’s side. Apos takes his job seriously, even though Arme is perfectly capable of protecting himself. all Apos wants are hugs from Arme.
> 
>  _Henir_ is an organization that specializes in doing jobs no one else wants to do. it is run by a group of administrators, of which Luto and Glave are most prominent: Luto, the administrator of human resources, and Glave, the administrator of finance. most jobs Henir takes on are contracted out, but some are given to agents who work for Henir directly.


	54. 67; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 67; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Erblu nearly drowns. Apos tries to heal him– the only way he knows how.

_“are you sure want to go alone?” Elsword’s rubbing his arm absently, raw red where the Coral Serpent lashed out at him. after a long moment, he asks again, “… Ain, are you okay?”_

_Erblu blinks out of his daze, lifts his eyes to see the look of concern on Elsword’s face. he smiles, an automatic reaction now. he’s not sure if he’s lying when he says, “I’m fine. I’ll be back before sundown.”_

_Elsword frowns, doesn’t believe him as usual. Erblu pats him on the head, gives him an absent smile. “come on, don’t worry about me, Elsword.”_

his steps are feather light over the broken buildings, slabs of marble cracking, sliding against the rumbling waves. the sea serpent went berserk again, driven mad by the demonic power creeping across Elrios, and barely, they managed to subdue it. so he decides he should check on the Water El.

after all, he’s still a “priest” of the goddess. as much as he likes being human, he’s still a celestial– and he still needs to protect the El. even though the object of his mission has disappeared, his obligation to the goddess has not. even though sometimes, he underestimates the extent of his exhaustion.

he doesn’t notice it until the stone caves under his foot. the rushing waves course deep between the cracks, in promise. there’s a brief flicker of panic as he tries to pull open his wings, letting divine light surround his form. – but he can’t manifest his wings.

so he crashes into the water and its silence roars around him.

within the depths, he opens his eyes slowly, his core pulsing in his mind. he won’t drown– celestials don’t need to breathe– but the muffled stillness hollows his form, disorients his senses. his celestial form is too weak to ascend, so he forces himself back into his human form, because at least, a human body floats to the surface.

he sees the light shine far above him, feels the sea swallow him up.

-

when he comes to, he’s not in the water anymore. his breath stutters, heavy with exertion. he drowned– at least, he had the sensation of drowning. his mind is too muddled to tell the difference. he feels arms curl protectively around him, so he tries to open his eyes.

bright white, then it fades to black. blurs. fingers come to stroke his cheek, cold. Apos. he feels pieces of himself fray around the touch, shatter into pieces of light. those fingers pause, curl against his fragile skin.

 _sorry, Apos_ , he wants to say, _sorry for being so rash_. but he can’t find his voice. and he can’t find the strength to smile.

a hand presses against his chest, above his core. that's when he feels a paralyzing chill flow into his form. he stiffens, pushes back.

_Apos–_

he’s gasping, and Apos wraps an arm around him, holds him down. he struggles, but the ice that grips his core refuses to let go. he feels his body seize up, fingers twitching helplessly against Apos’s shoulder. the pain tears at his core, prick like needles.

his breaths shorten and he flutters his eyes open again. this time, he sees the barest emotion in Apos’s empty green eyes. a worry, a _fear_.

his vision speckles with darkness and his consciousness drops out from under him.

-

when he opens his eyes, he feels a strange energy curling restlessly inside him. the sky above them is dark, moonlight melting like wisps upon the water, bathing the white marble of the half-submerged resiam. his human form feels heavy, limp. completely foreign to him.

he can still move his hand. so he snaps his fingers, summons a crystal Eid. it takes a moment for him to realize it is soaked black. when he closes his hand loosely, the Eid shatters into tiny pieces.

“Erblu?” it’s a quiet whisper.

he blinks slowly. he feels arms around him shift to hold him steady. “ah… Apos.”

“… you had no energy,” Apos murmurs, presses his forehead to Erblu’s shoulder. his fingers clench the wet fabric of Erblu’s coat. “so I gave you some.”

so that’s why he hadn’t faded into light. the energy that curls within him is the energy of the void. Erblu lifts his head, extends his fragile aura out to sense the world around him. he can’t feel the goddess. nor can he feel the El. it is only numbing emptiness that surrounds him. only a hollowness that fills him. 

but _Erbluhen Emotion_ can’t exist without emotions.

so when Apos raises his hand to his core again, Erblu pushes it away. Apos looks at him, hesitant.

“… Erblu?”

he can’t heal himself. Rein won’t come to him. “Apos. I need…”

the El. the goddess. either will do. he can’t let the chaos take hold of him. he can’t let Apos give this to him. he needs his own power back. because he knows Apos needs the warmth of his emotions. and the comfort of his love.

they should be close to the Water Temple. Erblu shifts, leans his head against Apos’s chest, and Apos tightens his grasp, anxious, attentive.

“… Apos. the El. can you…”

Apos says nothing. but he brings his arms under Erblu and stands, glyphs erupting from his back as he alights easily into his celestial form. it’s strange now how Apos’s power doesn’t faze him. it feels like everything else– dull nothingness. and the chaos that has always been eating at his core no longer hurts.

it doesn’t take long for Apos to find the Water Temple, hidden deep within the white caves of Hamel. the demons, empowered by the rise of their god, still slink within its shadows. Apos dispatches them without lifting a finger, glides through the temple quickly, his ravaging chaos reducing entire walls into rubble.

“down the stairs.” Erblu nudges Apos with his head when he realizes Apos is wandering aimlessly, lost. Apos turns back to find the stairs he mentioned, descends to reach the heart of the Halls of Water.

there, sitting upon a marble pedestal is a crystal blue shard, at the center of a bubbling fountain. sparkling water pools at its base, streams outward through white stone canals. Erblu lifts his head to see the El glow, a shimmering blue. so it is safe then. uncorrupted, untainted.

Apos approaches the Water El slowly, hovering just above the surface of the water. he lays Erblu to rest against the pedestal, touches his cheek tenderly. then Apos draws back, sweeps away, afraid he’d corrupt the El with his mere presence. 

Erblu reaches up to place his hand on the El, feels its memories searing into his mind. the Water Priestess, the White Colossus, the Earl. Elsword. the Water El pulses with the gift of life, infuses the flowing waters with its power. Erblu releases his human form and, surrounded by the healing waters of the El, finally allows his fractured celestial form to rest.

-

he doesn’t remember losing consciousness. he opens his eyes slowly to the sunlight filtering from above, through the cracks of the marble temple around him. the water surrounding him and the energy within him feels cold, icy. when he closes his hand, he feels Wille erupt. a serene, albeit solemn, hymn.

it’s better than nothing. he’ll get the other two back with time.

Apos isn’t far from him, a bubble of restless chaos energy brooding at the foot of the stairs. there are smoking demon corpses littered behind him, impaled upon the steps by sizzling black spears. Erblu smiles a little, places a hand on the stone, and stands, slowly shedding his celestial form. his human form is still heavy with exhaustion, but it is enough for now. Apos lifts his head when he hears Erblu approach, but doesn’t move.

so Erblu opens his arms, gives him a small smile. “come, Apos.”

Apos doesn’t waste any time. Erblu just barely registers Apos standing, before Apos tackles him into a hug, wraps his arms around him, clutching him desperately. Erblu cradles him, strokes his back gently, as Apos digs his fingers into Erblu’s coat, trembles. threads of chaos tickle him, carefully at bay.

not all of his emotions have returned. but the important ones have. Erblu smiles as Apos tightens his hold around him, nudges his face into Erblu’s damp hair. Erblu brushes Apos’s hair out of his face kindly, feels a familiar feeling stir within him.

“thank you, Apos.”

Apos looks up, an emotion curling in his hollow green eyes. it’s confusion. so Erblu presses his forehead against Apos’s, cups his cheek. smiles warmly at him.

this emotion that fills him, he knows Apos won’t understand.

“thank you, Apos, for helping me heal.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _random celestial!headcanons:_
> 
> most of my second job!Ain fics are set in a canon that is post-Lanox storyline, occasionally post-Elysion storyline. the resurrection of the demon god spreads a wave of sinister energy through Elrios, empowering former enemies. basically, they’re dealing with heroic hell mode lol. Erblu’s El Search Party has been charged to handle the outbreaks, moving constantly from town to town. Apos follows after them because of Erblu, but he doesn’t care much about fighting in general. Arme usually has his own agenda (to kill demons) and usually goes alone (to kill demons), but he returns most nights to rest with Erblu.
> 
> water interferes with a celestial. or more specifically, their ability to sense their environment. light travels through water slower than it does in air; and celestials rely on light. though the presence of water doesn’t directly reduce their power, celestials need to more energy to overcome it. Erblu’s particularly at risk, since he’s usually unaware of how little power he has left. Arme carefully avoids water, as he doesn’t like not having full use of his celestial senses, and Apos doesn’t care, since his senses are already dulled from the chaos.
> 
> one of my favorite things about Ain’s concept is how each of his path’s primary energy source is reflected in their appearance and personality. what this means for my writing-purposes is that their personality  _changes_ based on the type of energy they take in. Arme and Apos reflect the goddess and the chaos respectively, but Erblu is different– he relies on energy he created himself, his Eid. each of his Eids represents a different facet of his personality. he feels Rein most of the time: excitable, bubbly, loving, but he accesses Mut when he’s in combat. he rarely settles in Wille, but when he does, he becomes more calm, relaxed, composed. he’s Wille more often around Apos, less so around Arme.


	55. 68; executor / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 68; Lofty Executor / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Executor rests. Wander stays with him.

it’s annoying to have to stop.

Executor rests against the trunk of the tree, circulating energy around his celestial form, arms crossed, his gaze set blankly ahead. Wander’s sitting next to him, hands curled in front of him, unmoving, waiting for Executor to finish recovering his power.

the tiny bit of power Executor can store in this body anyway. this vessel is too weak to contain the full grace of the goddess and creation magic takes too much of his energy. but he can’t fight without it. 

it is not enough. he needs to become stronger, so he can better execute the goddess’s will. so he can help Wander.

Wander, who’s been following him since they met. Wander, a celestial-- _himself_ from another world. at first, it surprised him that there existed a world where he fell away from the goddess-- but at the same time, it didn’t. after all, even with his steadfast dedication to the goddess, the mark of Henir remains seared over his eye. it isn’t inconceivable that in another world, he succumbed to its chaos and strayed from his mission.

but Executor still has his own mission. and though it isn’t his, Wander followed. eventually, Executor started letting him. eventually, Executor started to ‘care’ for him too. at least, that’s how Elsword put it. ‘he’s become someone you want to protect.’ sure, Executor shrugged. but this ‘care’ has gotten him into far more trouble than he would have otherwise.

these human emotions he has-- they interfere with him too much.

when he’s done resting, Executor closes his eyes and returns to his human form, lets his celestial aura dissipate. even though he’d much rather stay in his celestial form, his human form is more convenient. for interacting with humans, and more importantly, for conserving his energy. and Wander likes it better, for some reason.

when he opens his eyes, Wander is staring at him. Executor finally blinks and Wander starts, surprised. when Wander tries to push himself away, Executor grabs him by the wrist, pulls him back. Wander fidgets, but eventually settles down to rest against Executor again, folds his legs under him.

Wander’s anxious green eye is still watching him.

Executor figures the best way to find out why is to ask him directly. “what are you looking at?”

Wander looks down to fiddle with the cloth of his veil absently. Executor closes his eyes, knits his brow. it always takes him awhile to remember how to be human again. the last thing he wants is for Wander to run off and…

Executor can sense the gathering chaos in Wander’s left arm and he doesn’t want to think about it.

so Executor opens his eyes to look at Wander. softens his tone. “what are you looking at? Wander.”

Wander looks up and his gaze skates away from Executor’s. “your eyes... for a moment, they were blue.”

“... I was in my celestial form,” Executor states bluntly.

“that’s...” and Wander lowers his head, curls his fingers. “that’s not what I mean. your human form is changing.”

“... is it?” Executor didn’t notice.

“your eyes and…” Wander lifts up his right hand hesitantly and when Executor doesn’t pull away, he reaches over to touch Executor’s hair carefully. “your hair is more blue too.”

Executor tries to look at his hair from this angle. he needs to cut his front strands soon-- he neglected to when he lopped his braid off. long hair is inconvenient for combat and he’s not sure why Wander never cut his own.

Wander rubs the gray strands between his fingers thoughtfully, gently touches the soft blue creeping into the strands. the blue that’s the manifestation of the goddess’s light, a reflection of his celestial power.

there’s an emotion in Wander’s eyes when he lets go. doubt. it’s _doubt_ that caused Wander to become this way. Wander is about to reach for his veil again when Executor takes his right hand.

“Executor?”

he wants to heal Wander. he wants Wander to finish his mission too. Executor holds Wander’s hand firmly, and with his other hand he pinches Wander’s left sleeve and lifts it up. Wander’s left hand is trembling in pain, as it always does, laced with the threads of chaos energy.

Executor can’t purge it. his power is too limited. too weak. he needs to become stronger. he cannot be called an emissary of the goddess if he cannot help Wander.

“Executor,” and Wander tugs his left hand away, curls his fingers into his hand. when Executor looks up at him, there’s a forlorn gentleness in Wander’s eye. “it’s blue again.”

Executor lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. he feels the divine power stir within him, riled by his emotions. is this what Wander means? he controls his power, tries to calm himself down. he opens his eyes slowly to see Wander’s gaze soften. “is it still blue?”

“no.”

Executor furrows his brow. “why are you bothered by it?”

Wander looks away. “... it makes you seem distant.”

“what do you mean?”

Wander gives him a limp half-shrug. “it just... it just feels like you’re going to a place I can’t reach.”

Executor blinks blankly at him. “but I always come back.”

there’s a spark of something in Wander’s eye, and then a small lift of his lips. faint. Wander folds his fingers into Executor’s. in silent resilience. Executor doesn’t understand. Wander’s sad smile and-- the strange twinge in his chest.

“yes,” Wander says softly. “you do.”


	56. 69; executor / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 69; Lofty Executor / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> somehow, Arme becomes Executor again. Erblu takes it as an opportunity to love him.

“Erblu, what are you doing?”

the words come out as an harsh snap, but it isn’t enough to convince Erblu to let go. Erblu curls his arms around the other celestial’s neck, keeps him in a tight hug. because how many opportunities is he going to get to do this? how many opportunities is he going to have to see the other express _emotion_?

well, sure, it isn’t Arme _proper_. it’s Executor, Arme’s previous incarnation. but it’s still _Arme_. still the same intense power of the goddess, still the same straightforward bluntness, still the same adorable exasperation when he’s hopelessly confused by everything Erblu does.

but there’s a faint pink flush on Executor’s face right now. and Arme doesn’t _blush_.

Erblu rubs his cheek affectionately against Executor’s and Executor tries to pull away from him. _try_ being the operative word: Executor successfully manages to trip over his own feet instead, faceplanting onto the bed. Erblu laughs, falls in beside him, and seizes Executor again, wrapping his arms around his back. there’s a look of mild annoyance on Executor’s face when he looks up at him and Erblu beams, leans in to prod Executor’s cheek with his nose.

Executor buries his face in his arm, lets out a sigh. “let go, Erblu. I’m going to find whoever did this and skewer them.”

like Arme, only more verbal with his threats. Erblu ignores it as usual and reaches up to tangle his fingers into Executor’s soft gray hair, tickles the light blue strands. he strokes Executor’s head with a touch of Rein, and Executor fidgets quietly, unsure how to react. slowly but surely, he leans into Erblu’s hand.

finally: “Erblu.”

“yes?”

“stop.”

Erblu smiles blithely. “give me a good reason why.”

Executor opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. after a moment, he mumbles, “it... feels strange.”

“that’s how emotions work,” Erblu says gently. pulls Executor’s hand away from his face. Executor wraps his fingers around Erblu’s, holds it tightly. “you like this. and this is how you feel when you like something.”

“no, I don’t,” Executor says, too quickly. “I-- I don’t like this.”

as always, denying it. Erblu chuckles, leans in to press his lips against Executor’s forehead. Executor blinks rapidly, green eyes lost with confusion, and lowers his gaze shyly. too cute, Erblu thinks, Executor’s too cute. Erblu nestles his face into Executor’s hair and Executor stills at the touch.

Executor doesn’t say anything. but he isn’t pulling away. nor is he letting go of Erblu’s hand. Arme has always ignored his emotions and that Executor actually recognizes them is forcing him to confront them for once. Erblu smiles gently, presses Executor closer to him, rubs at his back soothingly. slowly, eventually, Executor nestles hesitantly into his shoulder, resigned to his embrace.

“see, it isn’t so bad now, is it?”

Executor shifts his head slightly, tightens his grip on Erblu’s hand. he makes a noise of frustration. “I don’t understand. these emotions.”

and Erblu smiles. this is still Arme, still the Arme he knows, constantly confused by his humanity.

“I know,” Erblu hums, holding Executor tenderly. “and that’s why I’m here.”


	57. 70; executor > arme / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 70; Lofty Executor > Arme Thaumaturgy / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> it’s become harder and harder for Wander to find Executor.

it was Executor’s light that drew him out of the abyss.

a light shining with a singular purity, an otherworldly strength. imbued with a gentleness, a balm over his shattered soul. a terribly soft kindness, though its edge is sharp as glass.

there’s a touch at his temple, lingering over the space above his left eye, and he shifts into the presence resting beside him. celestials are goddess incarnate and Executor is the epitome of one. divine light in human form.

and he– the one who Executor calls Wander– is not.

when a hand brushes his hair from his right eye, Wander reaches out, buries his fingers into cloth. he bows his head, exhales in shuttered sobs. Executor is silent, but he lets him. he always lets Wander stay.

why is Executor so kind to him?

he who is tangled by corruption, consumed by the seed planted in his core, haunted by the darkness threatening to pull him within. he can’t move his left arm anymore– and he doesn’t want to. the world has dimmed, the faces have faded, the voices have blurred, all– except for the light that is Executor.

when his vision settles, it focuses on crystal green eyes. they watch him, vigilant, and he lowers his gaze, grasps Executor’s white coat in his hands. Executor wraps his fingers around his hand, before raising his other to bring Wander against his shoulder.

Wander asks for acceptance. for forgiveness. for mercy. without question, without hesitation, without judgment, Executor gives it to him.

if only the goddess could do the same.

-

_“why… do you call me Wander?”_

_“do you want me to call you Ain?”_

_he stills, looks down._ Ainchase _was the name the goddess gave him._ Ain _was the name Elsword gave him._ Wanderer _was the name the people gave him._

Wander _is the name Executor insists on calling him._

_Executor’s eyes are firm, dares him to answer. but Wander doesn’t. because he won’t recognize himself as the existence called Ain. he can’t._

_“a ‘wanderer’ is one who wanders. it is an identity with a sense of permanence. ‘wander’ is an action. temporary.” and Executor places a firm hand on his shoulder. “that’s why I call you Wander.”_

_Wander raises his hand to touch Executor’s._

_“Executor. then by that reasoning, you are… ” Wander says quietly, looking up into Executor’s piercing green eyes. “always. the one who will execute the goddess’s will.”_

_“and there is nothing I want to be otherwise.”_

_this is why Executor tries to become stronger. tries to become one with the goddess. because that is who Executor is, a celestial wholly dedicated to the goddess._

_Wander understands. but it doesn’t mean he won’t fear it._

-

it’s become harder and harder to find Executor.

he’s not sure why. perhaps his senses have faded, worn away by his detachment from the goddess. but Executor’s power shines like a beacon in these demon-infested graves that even he can sense it. 

or perhaps something happened to Executor.

Wander tried not to dwell on it, when he wandered into the camp for the fourth time. it used to be simple enough: find Executor’s light and Executor will be there.

only, Wander can’t find his light anymore.

“if you’re looking for Ain, he went to the underground chapel a few days ago,” the alchemist said. Allegro looked at him as he’s done before, but in hopefulness rather than in pity or fear. “he’s probably still there.”

so he comes here again, to the place where they met. where Wander went to seek the goddess and found Executor instead, laying waste to the demons crawling the abandoned holy site. where Executor refused to stop, until the demons were exiled and the gates closed, his celestial form sublimating near completely into light.

the demons came back. they always come back.

but this time, the creeping terror doesn’t faze him. and neither do the sight of their corpses. they lay amidst the chapel ruins, like smoking rubble, impaled upon glittering crystal spears. like they were when he found Executor the first time.

but he still can’t see any light.

he brings a hand over his right eye, the eye he believed remain untainted. without warning, his vision sinks into darkness.

no. _no_ –

he screams and the ground of the chapel rumbles in kind. when he raises his head, he sees demons crawling through of the crevices in the walls. he takes a step back, trembles. but not in fear of them– because the deepest corruption is the one that has already eaten through his core– but rather, fear of himself.

his left arm moves automatically, throws the gathering chaos into the hoard. his projections scatter like black ice into the mob, black crystal spears cursed by the abyss. but it is the only power he has now, since the goddess left him this way, since the goddess abandoned him.

still he dared to believe that there is something he, a broken celestial wholly severed from the grace of the goddess, can still have.

because even if Executor couldn’t heal him, even if Executor couldn’t save him, his presence, his comfort, his _kindness_ – was something that made him _feel_.

but perhaps it is his fate that he cannot have even this.

he barely feels the light that drenches the room. the chaos that consumed most of his body fogs his vision too. his form is shattering, bleeds essence ethereal. it hurts, but he’s stopped caring.

the demons have fallen now. the crystal spears that pierce them glow bright in his haze.

that’s when a strange power touches his shoulder and he flinches away. when he lifts his eyes, he sees bright blue eyes. distant. and a form flowing with grace, radiating icy light.

a celestial.

a celestial who feels like Executor. feels like the chill of the divine. the blue that seeps into his hair, the blue of his eyes– the color of the heavens. those blue eyes stare at him, impassive, indifferent, unreadable.

unreachable.

he knows these eyes. that’s why he feels the same as Executor. it _is_ Executor. but there is no frustration, no irritation, no impatience. no questions, no words, only _silence_.

Wander curls his fingers into a fist, lowers his head.

“stop, _stop_ ,” he hears himself whisper. his voice is rough from screaming, unfamiliar. “Executor, do something, anything. anything but _this_ –”

he wants– Executor’s love. Executor’s emotions. even though he knows, Executor gives him everything but. even though he knows, Executor is like this because of  _him_.

he doesn’t remember falling to the ground, but his arm burns with pain in the holy light. he digs his fingers into his skin, agony set deep into the bits of his form that is Henir’s now.

“then what should I do?”

Executor’s voice. empty. when Wander looks up, Executor is kneeling in front of him, gazing into his eyes. the emotion in those blue eyes are…

Wander looks down, away. he doesn’t know them anymore. he’s used to seeing anger, annoyance in Executor’s eyes and neither were the emotion in these.

then, Executor tucks his arms around him, allows his aura to settle over Wander’s form. he lifts him carefully from the ground, his aura pulsing with a familiar determination, and takes Wander out of the underground chapel. Wander feels the chaos fall from the cracks in his body, feels the gentle light tickle them, keep the darkness at bay. like this, fully one with the goddess, Executor is stronger. but there’s something missing, something that Wander wants.

Wander hesitates, but slowly, lays his head against Executor’s chest. he feels a gentle divine aura come up around him, experimentally. kind.

“Executor?”

“what?”

that blunt _snap_ is more like Executor. _“don’t just sit there, Wander. rest.”_ this is still _Executor_. Wander settles deeper into his embrace, breath stuttering between hiccups, nudges his nose into Executor’s neck.

after a long moment, Executor asks, his tone even, “do you want me to stay?”

Wander nods slowly, clenches Executor’s coat tight in his hand. “… yes.”

“alright.”


	58. 71; arme / anpassen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 71; Arme Thaumaturgy / Lofty Anpassen
> 
> somehow, Erblu becomes Anpassen again. Arme gives him the comfort he needs. 
> 
> related: 69

Arme notices the difference the moment he walks in. both El and divine energy are circulating in the room, simultaneously and in disarray.

Erblu doesn’t normally do this.

the other celestial looks up from where he’s sitting on the bed. there’s a light blue under the gray of his hair– not the pure gray Erblu’s hair is usually. the celestial smiles, a little cautiously, a little hesitantly, a smile infused with a familiar sparkle.

“hey, Arme.”

what did Erblu say was the name of his previous incarnation? Anpassen. because he was adapting to use the El, his new source of power. Anpassen is sitting on the bed, legs open in front of him, his hands curled into the sheets. Arme reaches out to touch Anpassen’s head and Anpassen leans into it, hums happily.

Arme pulls his hand away. it’s strange. why is Erblu like this?

an Eid appears, blinks green, before it shifts into a deep red. when Erblu summons Eid, it’s usually a soft, healing yellow. the only time Erblu ever brings out Mut is when he’s in combat.

it flickers with warning and Arme catches it into his hand. Anpassen flinches when it shatters.

“yikes, um, sorry.” Anpassen glances away, doesn’t look him in the eye. Arme lets the crystal dissipate before kneeling onto the bed, placing a hand on Anpassen’s shoulder to examine his form. compared to Erblu’s, Anpassen’s form is more divine than human, and it struggles to accept the El as its source, putting an abnormal strain on his existence. Erblu has always had limited access to divine power; he’s only so energetic because of his reliance on El.

only so energetic because of his stubborn insistence on being human. 

“Arme?” a hand touches his. it’s cool, like his own, not like Erblu’s warmth. “… say something?”

Arme feels those fingers curl around his. he blinks. “what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Anpassen shrugs absently, but his voice just barely trembles. “do your thing where you– examine me and tell me I’m fine.”

“but you’re not,” Arme answers flatly, and Anpassen slumps his shoulders, looks down. wordlessly, Arme sits onto the bed, wraps his arm around Anpassen’s back. Anpassen stiffens in surprise, but Arme closes his eyes, lets his celestial power coat their forms like a shimmering veil.

“… Arme, what are you…”

Arme doesn’t answer, instead calmly starts to sort the confused energy around Anpassen. Anpassen holds Arme’s shoulders, at first hesitantly, and then more firmly. Arme feels Anpassen shuffle against him, moving into his space. when Arme finally opens his eyes, Anpassen has curled into his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, breathing softly in the serene divine aura.

Arme runs his hand against Anpassen’s back and Anpassen mumbles something intelligible as he stirs.

“this feels… so weird,” Anpassen says, extending his senses to feel the celestial energy surrounding him. he whines, “you filtered out the El, Arme. how am I supposed to make Eid like this?”

“you don’t,” Arme says bluntly. “just rest until you change back.”

Anpassen pouts, but his gaze is softer now, absent of emotion. Arme pauses, frowns. Erblu without his warmth, without his occasionally annoying emotions– it’s strange.

“… Arme?”

there’s uncertainty in Anpassen’s gaze, hesitance. but Anpassen lowers his gaze, rubs his forehead into Arme’s shoulder. then, raises his head to rest his cheek against Arme’s. stays there. Arme blinks– but he shouldn’t be surprised. Anpassen is still Erblu after all. still the happily affectionate celestial Arme knows.

who won’t let go. Arme tries to pry Anpassen off, but the other celestial only clings onto him tighter.

“Arme, could you…” and his fingers curl anxiously against Arme’s back. “hug me? – I mean, you did it just now. so… could you just… keep hugging me?”

Arme furrows his brow. he doesn’t really need to, since he’s done purifying Anpassen’s energy. but Anpassen’s tracing circles against his back, so Arme brings his arms around Anpassen. secures it. “like this?”

“yes.” Anpassen smiles happily, tiny blue Eids sparkle around them like crystal projections. they’re not warm like Rein is, but somehow Arme feels a warmth curl inside him anyway.

but Anpassen doesn’t seem to notice. he only nuzzles into Arme’s embrace, eyes flickering close, and Arme closes his eyes to meditate as well.


	59. 72; (college!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 72; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (college!au) Apos is sick. Erblu takes care of him.

“you’re sick, Apos. you need to see a doctor.”

that’s what Erblu said, at least, during a hushed call between classes. but Apos doesn’t need to see a doctor. he already took the pills Erblu gave him in the morning. Apos lets his phone drop from his hand, curls up under the sheets next to his open laptop. he hasn’t even started on his assignment, but the endless ringing in his ears isn’t doing much for his motivation.

another chill creeps over his clammy skin and Apos slumps into his pillow listlessly. he doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

some indeterminable amount of time later, the door opens. there’s crumpling papers and quiet shuffling, before the door closes. the faucet in the kitchen unit turns on, then off.

“Apos?” Erblu’s voice. a cool hand comes to his forehead and he blinks open his eyes slowly to see a blurred form in the dim light. “how are you feeling?”

a weight comes to rest against the futon and within a moment, Apos extends his arms out to grab Erblu’s waist, curls his body around him. Erblu chuckles as Apos buries his face into Erblu’s lap.

“hey, not now, Apos.” Erblu presses a cup to Apos’s lips and Apos pauses, before obediently taking a sip of water. when he finishes off the cup, a hand touches his head, combs through his bedhead, and then it comes wrap around his arm. “alright. you need to eat something first.”

Apos looks up at Erblu. “… instant noodles?”

“no, I brought _actual_ groceries this time. let me go and I’ll make you something–”

Erblu doesn’t make it off halfway off the futon before Apos grabs him again, pulls him backward onto the futon and onto Apos. something falls onto the wooden floor with a loud clack and Erblu yelps.

“Apos, your laptop–”

“it’s fine,” Apos mumbles. his computer has been through worse. Erblu squirms a little, before he sighs, tucks himself in Apos’s embrace. Apos nestles his face into Erblu’s hair and closes his eyes. Erblu’s heart beats calm, steady, lulls his own into a soothing rhythm. compared to the rest of the world, Erblu always feels so _warm_.

when Apos comes to, he hears something boiling in the kitchen unit of his room. Apos blinks slowly, the sharp pain in his head muffled by his drowsiness. Erblu’s standing at the stove, expression pinched as he tastes whatever he’s cooking in the pot. Apos sits up slowly, lets the blanket slide off his head. he stares at it blankly, before standing up, feeling the ground move under his feet. when it finally steadies, he floats over to peer over Erblu’s shoulder.

in the pot is a strange concoction. vegetables floating in a broth, with white meat and noodles. from the packaging left on the counter, it’s instant noodles. it’s only when Apos wraps his arms around Erblu’s waist does Erblu notice him.

“ah, you’re up. I just called the clinic downtown and they said they can see you in–”

Erblu doesn’t get to finish his sentence, before Apos lowers his nose to Erblu’s shoulder. he smells of soup. it’s not a bad smell. Erblu nudges him gently and Apos lifts his head. when Erblu prods the spoon against his lips, Apos opens his mouth to take it, feels the soup settle warmly in his core. 

“anyway, they can see you in half an hour,” Erblu says, turning off the heat. attempts to pour the soup into the bowl as Apos rubs his face against Erblu’s back. “we can go when you’re done eating.”

“I can sleep it off,” Apos says.

“that’s what you said two days ago,” Erblu chides, and then he turns around to look at Apos, concern in his eyes. “it won’t take long. just a checkup, just so we know you’re not actually dying. I’ll come with you.”

Apos searches for an excuse, but he can’t think of one.

then Erblu adds, “and I’ll stay tonight. I brought my stuff over.”

now he really has no excuse to say no. Apos curls his arms around Erblu’s back, rests against Erblu’s solid warmth. Erblu makes him feel warm. he always does.

Apos closes his eyes. dozes.

“… Apos, don’t fall asleep yet,” Erblu nudges him awake. “come on. food, doctor, then sleep.”

“then you,” Apos adds quietly.

Erblu smiles, presses a gentle kiss on his cheek. Apos hums, holds Erblu tightly. “but I’m always here for you, Apos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college!au (aka i’m sick of being sick so i made this au instead):
> 
> Apos is a programming student. it clicks with him pretty well, but mostly he just doesn’t like interacting with people. ends up skipping all his classes. Erblu is an art student and is really enthusiastic about it. his other grades suffer because he can’t stop inspiration when it hits! they met at the local supermarket when Erblu decided to stock up on instant noodles the weekend before finals and finds Apos wandering in the instant food aisle, confused and indecisive. they have many dinner and study nights, but mostly they end up falling asleep.
> 
> Apos is sick most of the time. his lack of sleep doesn’t help and neither does his disinclination to eat. suffers from a general lack of motivation to do much of anything. he’s gotten much better with Erblu around, probably because Erblu’s energy is curiously infectious. and Erblu is cute when he’s sleep-deprived and babbling.
> 
> Erblu doesn’t take care of himself much either. but he tries! he just gets lost in all his projects and whirlwind of activities that he just forgets to eat. and sleep. he’s settled down a bit after meeting Apos, starting to appreciate the quieter side of life. has gotten more responsible about eating at least, mostly since he wants to make sure Apos eats too.


	60. 73; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 73; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Arme returns to Erblu to rest.

the dusk skies above him brighten when the image of that Nasod finally fades. he falls, landing with light steps onto the steel floor, bracing his projection sword beside him. as quickly as they appeared, the haunting illusions disperse from the platform like scattered light.

Arme dislikes returning to Atlas, to Elysion. to the place he remembers too clearly. but it is through the power of that fallen demon god, through the echoes of his memories, that this hell manifests again.

he no longer hesitates. because his nightmares– his _mistakes_ – have no place in Erblu’s peaceful world.

he allows _Erst der Letzt_ to dissipate, mouths softly the words of the heavens. the protection of the goddess rises around him, still attends to him, despite it all. he lifts his wings, heavy with exertion, and descends from the city of the sky.

the weight in his core remains. it is the emotion Erblu calls ‘regret.’

_“it’s wishing you did something different. a desire to change what happened.”_

but he does not want to change the past anymore. because he does not want to abandon this present. so it is not ‘regret.’

‘resignation,’ perhaps. but that is to accept a fate he does not desire. so it is not ‘resignation’ either.

the stars hanging in the sky gleam like lanterns, welcomes him back to Elrios. at the outskirts of Lanox, he steps into his human form, his coat whipping in the night breeze.

when he arrives at the inn, the window on the second floor is open. there’s a cheerful melody floating from the room, stirs with the language of the heavens, hums with the tune of the earth. as tempted as he is to dart toward the window, he doesn’t, pushing open the front door instead.

“welcome back, Arme.”

Elsword waves at him and Arme pauses, gives him a silent nod, before turning toward the stairs. he’s used to this. because to this Elsword, he’s nothing more than a strange visitor.

Arme stands in front of the door to the room for only a second when it swings open and he’s trapped in an embrace.

trapped– probably not. is it ‘trapped’ when it is something he wants?

“rough day, Arme?”

Arme doesn’t answer. Erblu only nuzzles his cheek against Arme’s head, his hands grasping at his back, sensing the pulse of his core. Erblu tugs him into the room gently, reaching out to pull shut the door.

the bubble of emotion around Erblu is called ‘happiness.’ Arme raises a hand to press against Erblu’s soft gray hair, and before he realizes it, his other arm has come tightly around Erblu’s waist. Erblu stills, momentarily caught off guard, but relaxes, the Rein Eid surrounding them resuming their flow. he strokes his fingers through Arme’s hair, picks at the light blue strands.

for a few moments, they are like this. Erblu cradling him quietly, Arme slowly sinking into his embrace, feeling the full extent of exhaustion set into his form.

“you know, you could always join us. instead of going alone all the time.”

Arme doesn’t give him an answer. he doesn’t need to. Erblu already knows why.

Erblu brushes Arme’s hair from his eyes, smiles softly. then he lowers his hand to the small of Arme’s back, curls his fingers in question. Arme understands, releases his human form temporarily, allow his celestial aura to radiate from his form. Erblu’s gaze is gentle, his touch a soothing caress over his skin. Erblu reaches under Arme’s legs and lifts him up easily and Arme closes his eyes, falls wordlessly against his chest.

the moment Erblu places him on the bed, Arme returns to his human form, wraps his arm around Erblu’s neck and pulls him down firmly. Erblu collapses against him in a soft giggle, noses into Arme’s hair affectionately. knowingly. Arme won’t willfully admit it though. eventually, Erblu comes to rest silently against Arme, his arm wrapped around his waist, his hand stroking along his back.

“hey, Arme.”

Arme shifts, the barest acknowledgment.

“you’ve come to like this.”

Arme blinks, looks up. but the smile on Erblu’s face doesn’t tease. it’s caring, bright, and his retort dies in his throat.

celestials don’t ‘like’ things. and certainly they’re not capable of love. but when it comes to being human, he at least knows he prefers this to everything else he’s known.

Erblu doesn’t wait for an answer. doesn’t care for one. Erblu already understands. he presses his face into Arme’s shoulder, breathes, clutches him tightly.

“good. because I have too.”


	61. 74; anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 74; Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Anpassen teaches Wander how to hug.

the El is warm. that is the first sensation he realizes on a cool spring day, as he walks the outskirts of Ruben. the grass that crinkles with life under his feet, the wind gentling wrapping around his body. it’s nothing like the cold touch of the divine realm, nothing like the emptiness of the void. the El that gives humans strength– how can a gift of the gods be so warm?

a few steps over, nestled in the curve of a tree, he spies a singular yellow flower. kneels down to curl his fingers around it. it’s as yellow as his Rein, a purity untouched, and he feels a smile pull at his lips. a ‘smile’– a human expression of ‘happiness.’ he doesn’t understand, but it makes something within his form flutter just a beat faster.

“… why aren’t you with the others?”

Anpassen blinks, recognizing the quiet murmur of the voice. he glances around for the source, before looking up into the tree. a tight frown and a hesitant green eye peers out from the leaves. still, Anpassen notices, his right hand clenching at his left arm.

Wander.

himself and– yet not himself. the one who exudes the power of both celestial and abyss, the one who has been touched by so many worlds. Wander, who ran away after Elsword accidentally walked in when Anpassen was trying to look at his wounds.

Anpassen stands. smiles. “hey, Wander. we’re not doing anything today, so I wanted to explore the area.”

Wander doesn’t reply, his gaze sliding off into the distance, in the direction of the home the Search Party is staying in. Anpassen answers his unasked question.

“I’m on my own, if you’re wondering. but you know, you don’t really have to be afraid of them.”

after all, Wander should already know them too.

there’s a distant look in Wander’s eye, a bit of forlorn loneliness, before Wander closes his eyes, jumps from the branch to land softly onto the ground in front of Anpassen, the grass parting around his feet. when Wander looks up at him, Anpassen opens his arms out, allows himself to radiate softly with El. Wander only gives him a stare of confusion.

Anpassen laughs, takes Wander into his arms. Wander stiffens, but Anpassen squeezes him tightly, tries to surround him with the warmth of the El. Wander’s wisping chaos churns brittle in the air and he places his hand at Anpassen’s shoulder cautiously.

“… Anpassen…?”

“did you know?” Anpassen chirps, “humans need a good amount of physical contact every day to heal themselves.”

Wander curls his fingers. “but we’re not human…”

“I think, so as long as you’re in your human form, you can still experience human things,” Anpassen says, rubbing at Wander’s back gently. Wander slowly relaxes into his grasp, but he’s still stiff, uncertain.

Anpassen smiles, takes Wander’s left hand gently to rub his thumb into Wander’s wrist. his skin is cool, but it isn’t cold, even though that bit of strange darkness is starting to creep out from under his sleeve. Anpassen’s gaze softens. is there a way he can make it better?

“hey, Wander,” Anpassen says. “why don’t you– hug me back?”

“… how…?”

Anpassen brings the other celestial’s hand around his waist, tucks it behind his back. Wander wiggles his fingers hesitantly, before squeezing his arm around him.

“there we go, like that,” Anpassen says, sparkling softly. Wander lowers his head, nudges his face into Anpassen’s shoulder, before he finally stills. “do you feel better?”

“a… little,” Wander allows eventually. he wraps his other arm around Anpassen, locks him close. his grip is tight, almost painful, but it’s a start. “… what about you? does this… help?”

Anpassen blinks, realizes. so Wander noticed then– his incomplete Eids, the instability of his emotions. Wander gazes at him, before looking down again, starts to disentangle himself. but Anpassen doesn’t let him, gathers Wander into his arms, into a firmer, more confident embrace.

“it does,” Anpassen says, and then with more feeling, with more emotion, he smiles. “it does.”


	62. 75; (highschool!au) arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 75; Arme Thaumaturgy, Erbluhen Emotion, Apostasia
> 
> (highschool!au: Erblu befriends the school’s ice duo, Arme and Apos. they’re both cuter than Erblu expected.) Apos finds a kitten and names her Arme. it’s not the best way to convince Arme to keep her, but it is a way.

“Apos, take that thing away from me.”

Apos doesn’t, placing the kitten’s tiny paws on the hem of Arme’s pants. Arme’s sitting on the floor against the wall, retracting his leg from her touch, eying the small creature apprehensively. Erblu stifles a giggle, as the cat out of her own volition approaches Arme again. places a paw on his socked foot. Arme turns to face the wall.

“see,” Apos says, still somehow managing an indifferent expression. he tucks his fingers under the gray kitten, takes her into his hands carefully. “Arme already likes you.”

“you named her–” Arme stops abruptly in the middle of his sentence. Apos gives him a blank gaze and Erblu reaches over to trace a finger along the kitten’s head. Arme, the cat, swipes at his finger playfully, her tiny claws scratching along his skin. Arme, the human, turns away from all of them, crossing his arms. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Apos answers him anyway. “she looks like you. gray hair, like you had before. blue eyes.” Apos drags a finger along the crown of her head, down to her nose, and the kitten sneezes at the touch. “small. feisty. cute.”

Arme frowns deeply. Erblu can’t stop snickering into his hand.

“Erblu, don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not. why don’t you like her, Arme?” Erblu asks innocently, reaching over to rub a finger behind the kitten’s ear. “she’s so cute. like you.”

“cute or not, I’m not taking care of her,” Arme says bluntly, avoiding Apos’s insistent gaze. “Apos, I’m not keeping her.”

Apos ignores him, instead lifting the kitten and dropping her into Arme’s lap. Arme starts, catching her before she tumbles onto the wooden floor. Arme lets out a sigh of relief, cradling her in his hands with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

“see, you like Arme,” Apos points out.

“I do not,” Arme says flatly. when the kitten bites at his finger, he pulls his hand away. “and stop calling her Arme, you’re going to get attached. – you’re already attached.”

Apos doesn’t deny it, his lips pulled into a faint pout.

“well,” Erblu says slowly. “if you’re not going to take her, then I guess we’ll have to take her back to where we found her. to the box, behind the school. where she was left. alone.”

Arme frowns. “why can’t you keep her, Erblu?”

Erblu shakes his head, holds his arms up in a cross. “apartment rules, no pets. and you already know Apos can’t. come on, she just needs a warm, loving home, Arme. give her a chance. you’re her only hope.”

“stop being dramatic, Erblu.”

but Arme looks at the kitten again, this time thoughtfully. he brushes his thumbs over the kitten’s head and she mews, a tiny, adorable whine. her blue eyes close slightly as she relaxes into Arme’s pets. purrs. Erblu smiles fondly when Arme’s gaze softens.

“… fine,” Arme sighs wearily. Apos perks up and Erblu grins. “she can stay here, but you two are taking care of her. buy food for her. take her on walks. whatever you do with cats.”

“you don’t have to walk cats, Arme,” Erblu laughs. “and don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her. right, Apos?”

Apos doesn’t answer, but the tender way he takes the kitten from Arme’s hands seems to point to the affirmative. Apos shuffles closer to Arme, lets the kitten rest in his cupped hands. content. Arme watches Apos closely, before laying his head against the wall in resignation.

“why do I let you two drag me into this…”

“because you love us,” Erblu says, sparkling softly. when Arme looks up at him, a bit doubtfully, Erblu smiles, pats him on the head. “even though you won’t admit it.”

Arme says nothing at first. then, he sighs, “I guess.”  



	63. 76; anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 76; Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Anpassen exhausts himself. Wander takes care of him.

he doesn’t remember what happened after he collapsed. he remembers his body falling to the ground, doesn’t remember hitting it before his form unravelled into light.

he was too reckless. creating these Eids expends far too much of his energy. and the goddess’s presence feels farther and farther away. this is the path he chose, but is it the path he should have taken?

he wakes, slowly, struggles to drag his consciousness out of nothingness. his senses wake too, slowly. he’s surrounded by blankets, buried under multiple layers. he blinks slowly into the softness, feels his energy gather weakly at his hand. he can barely curl his fingers.

“Anpassen?”

there’s a hesitant voice. he sees past the tendrils of light green El rising from his form, Wander sitting on the bed, gazing at him with his visible eye. worried. “are you okay?”

he can barely move, exhausted as he is. he can’t speak. he tries to nod a little, but Wander only frets even more. Anpassen wishes he can sit up, sweep the other celestial in his arms. say it’s okay– that he’ll get better. that he’ll become stronger.

but he can’t be sure. this energy is tenuous and his form is still too weak to control it, too weak to sustain it. he can’t know if he’ll ever get better.

“you collapsed suddenly, so we brought you back here,” Wander says, crumpling his fingers into the sheets. “Elsword and everyone went back out to fight, but… I…”

Anpassen adopted the El out of curiosity: to discover the meaning of human emotions. but he knows he– this form– can barely handle its power. 

is this the goddess’s way of telling him that celestials cannot have emotions?

Wander places a careful hand over his, tugs it away from where it’s curled in the space lying in front of him. crawls under the mound of blankets, inches in next to Anpassen. quietly, shyly.

Anpassen still can’t say anything. but he can lean his head in, holds Wander’s left hand in both of his own. around him, the El blinks a warm green aura, heals, soothes. Wander’s still lying, curled, outside the bubble, so Anpassen slowly moves his hands to Wander’s shoulders and wraps his arms around him. he shifts slightly to curl his faded form around Wander, feels Wander relax into the warmth, nestle his face into his shoulder. _his_ warmth. the warmth Anpassen made on his own.

a new feeling blooms into his heart. 

maybe this path was the right one for him to take.


	64. 77; (modern!au) arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 77; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (modern!au) they go bed shopping. or really, only Erblu is. Apos falls asleep and Arme’s just confused.

Apos is starting to fall asleep.

they’re on the home and bed floor of the downtown department store. Apos has no idea why he had to come and neither does Arme. but Erblu was so ecstatic about the idea of _shopping together_ that he wasn’t going to take a no– or two no’s– for an answer.

so here they are, at eleven at night, trying to buy a new bed.

“should be at least a king– is there a bigger size than that?” Erblu’s muttering to himself as he paces between the mattress displays. Arme tails him, brows furrowed at the sheer number of choices, looking a little like a lost puppy.

Arme’s cute when he’s out of his element, Apos thinks absently. Arme doesn’t enjoy shopping, preferring to delegate the task to Erblu or to his trusted aides. Arme _says_ it’s because it’s a waste of his time, but Apos knows Arme is just terrible at making decisions for himself.

case in point: his own bed.

“we could get three rollout futons,” Arme says, clearly exasperated. “I could ask Hanna to pick something out.”

Erblu sniffs. “but that defeats the whole purpose of having _one_ bed, Arme.”

“and what purpose is that?”

“so we can all sleep on it _together_.”

Arme frowns but doesn’t argue with him. Erblu’s been whining about how cramped the old bed was and how he doesn’t like forcing Arme to sleep on the living room couch every time Erblu wanted to stay over. Arme would say that it’s not really big deal and that Erblu isn’t around enough anyway for it to be an inconvenience.

then Erblu “accidentally” spilled wine on it and Arme caved.

so under the pretense of absolutely needing to see the bed selection in person, Erblu dragged them both out. Erblu rarely gets the chance to monopolize Arme’s attention, so he’s taking full advantage of it.

“look, Arme, isn’t this cool?” Erblu’s clicking a remote control to a bed next to the one Apos is laying on, and they all watch with varying degrees of amazement as the head of the bed lifts up slowly until it’s in a sitting position. Erblu clicks another button as it smoothes out again. gestures to it, glowing brightly.

Arme is not impressed. “Erblu, we just need a normal bed.”

“lighten up a little, Arme.” Erblu pats him on both cheeks, holds his face. Arme pouts when Erblu doesn’t let go. “I’m paying for this, alright? let me spoil you and Apos.”

when Erblu pulls away, Arme grumbles, “as long as it fits in the elevator, Erblu.”

Erblu’s already gone over to the next one though, sinking both hands into the mattress, before sliding his upper body onto the bed. “oh… this is nice.”

Arme stares at the price tag. Erblu has already fallen deep into the bed, humming in happiness. Arme places a hand experimentally on the bed, before lifting his hand back up. “would prefer something firmer.”

Erblu rolls off the bed with a sigh, before moving onto the next. Apos slowly loses track of how many beds they’ve gone through, closing his eyes to the stark dimness of artificial light.

Apos is asleep by the time Erblu waves over the sales representative, who was watching them wander around the department. she smiles, glancing a little nervously at Arme’s stern frown, but Erblu flashes her a cheery smile. he pulls out his card, voice soft with apology, “sorry for the wait, miss. had to make sure we picked the _perfect_ one.”

even though the one he chose in the end was the first one they saw. Arme rolls his eyes, but Erblu sparkles innocently, before glancing over to the aforementioned bed again. Erblu’s gaze softens when he sees Apos still lying on it, fast asleep.

Erblu signs off the receipt with a flair, before patting Arme on the shoulder. “you can handle the delivery details, Arme.”

“fine.” Arme glances at Apos too. “don’t surprise him, Erblu.”

Erblu smiles and leans in to kiss him gently on the nose. Arme blinks blankly, in adorable confusion, and Erblu pulls away, twirling. “I am made of only pleasant surprises, Arme.”

“… right.”

Apos has kicked off his socks and shoes awhile ago, curling his bare toes into the crisp, clean bedsheets. he’s turned slightly away from Erblu, chest rising as he breathes softly. it’s a picture of absolute endearment, though Erblu knows, in reality, any sudden move will end with a knife to his throat. but Apos has gotten better about it.

“Apos,” Erblu whispers gently. Apos stirs, blinking his eyes open slowly. Erblu removes his shoes, before lying next to him, reaching up to place his lips on his forehead. Apos’s eyelids flutter close, before he curls to place his head against Erblu’s shoulder. Erblu cuddles against him, pressing his face to Apos’s hair. “so cute, Apos.”

“are we going yet?” comes Apos’s sleepy mumble. “where’s…”

“Arme’s taking care of the delivery stuff. then we can go.”

Arme ignores the surreptitious looks the sales rep is giving Erblu as she waits for the computer to process the order. his arms are crossed, but the papers have been printed now, and she’s marking the points off helpfully with a blue pen. Arme isn’t paying her any attention.

“– and we’ll be delivering it sometime before noon tomorrow.”

Arme gives her an absent nod. he already arranged work to do at home tomorrow morning, but Apos will appreciate being able to relax in the morning.

“and one last thing. I just want to ask, sir–” Arme looks at her, but she’s holding the shipping confirmation pages in front of her face. “the man from earlier. that is… _Emotion_ , right?”

 _Emotion_. Erblu’s stage name. of course. with the way Erblu behaves, Arme would be surprised if people didn’t notice, even if Erblu’s wearing Arme’s black coat and a knit hat indoors. Arme glances at the papers, realizing with a frown that Erblu signed the papers with his _autograph_.

“sir?” she’s blushing a little, too shy to walk up to Erblu _Emotion_ to ask him herself.

Arme lets out a long sigh. “give me a moment, I’ll ask him to sign it properly.”

“no– this is fine,” she says, eyes sparkling, obviously captured by Erblu’s enduring charms. “please just let him know a cheerful _Mochi_ supports him all the way.”

she winks, much like how Erblu does, and Arme just stares. she offers him the papers and he takes them silently, folds them to place them into his pocket. Arme will never understand the allure of pop idols. and he knows one personally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _random human!headcanons:_
> 
>  
> 
> Erblu is actually ridiculously affectionate to _everyone._ as _Emotion_ , his fans (Mochis) are quite used to him hugging random people. most people usually freeze up in confusion when he does this, so he has a good bit of fun teasing them about it. he’s much softer when it comes to Arme and Apos though, because he loves them very much. and because Arme and Apos are both completely oblivious to how weird it actually is.
> 
> Arme doesn’t like shopping, because the sheer amount of choices overwhelm him. Apos doesn’t care; if you had to ask, he’d just choose something that’s blue (when Erblu realizes why, he can’t stop laughing; Arme still doesn’t get it). Erblu doesn’t mind shopping and will drag them both on shopping trips, just so that the two of them have things to wear that isn’t business formal all the time.
> 
> Apos lives with Arme in his apartment. Erblu has his own apartment, only because he has so much stuff he still needs somewhere to put it. when Erblu’s in town and he isn’t half-passed out because of work, he’ll stay over at Arme’s place.


	65. 78; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 78; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Apos wants only one thing.

in the deep shade of the tree, Arme rests, his arms crossed, eyes closed, power carefully absent from his form. he sits, just out of reach, as Apos pulls the void around him like a blanket, shrouds himself in its prickling chill. to reform, to recover. time and time again, Apos is not sure why Arme does this. being there, but just out of reach. watching him, but doing nothing.

Apos is tired of this. he wants to touch that ethereal power he could never have. he wants to rest in that ever constant and comforting presence.

he wants to embrace Arme.

his form continues to fracture. the power of the void dredges up from the crevices of the soil, pools into the cracks of his body, mending. it no longer hurts, even though he knows it should. this form created by the goddess should reject the corruption of the void.

it is something he no longer rejects.

“Arme.”

his voice is the barest rasp, but Arme opens his eyes, cool blue diamonds set in a piercing gaze. Apos extends his hand outward.

“could I have…?”

it takes a moment for Arme to realize that Apos wants a crystal projection. Arme drops his hand to his side, curls his fingers to summon glistening shards, but eventually, the cool power fades from his eyes, into a soft blue.

it has taken time, but it’s become obvious now. the kindness in his hesitation, the understanding in his silence, the tenderness in his care. the acceptance that Apos is who he is, and simultaneously, the stubborn refusal to allow Apos to stay this way.

but Apos doesn’t need to be saved.

Arme approaches, kneels in front of him, infusing his lance with purifying light before tucking it into Apos’s right hand. Apos summons what’s left of the feeling in his fingers and curls them around the crystal projection. feels it burn into his corrupted skin.

then without warning, Apos stabs it into the ground, into the center of the bubbling chaos. Arme jumps back, but Apos feels it instantly, the darkness chased from his form, the oozing liquid drain away.

when Apos lifts his head, he sees the haunted eye twitch limply against the ground, impaled by Arme’s projection. Apos flicks his gaze over to Arme, notices the emotion in his eyes.

worry… _fear_. 

so even the most perfect celestial of the goddess can feel this emotion.

“Arme,” and Apos reaches out, wraps his arm around the back of Arme’s neck. Arme stiffens, but doesn’t struggle as Apos pulls him into the malformed chaos surrounding him. with his other hand, the one that hasn’t shattered yet, Apos twines his fingers between Arme’s, searching for something to hold.

Arme doesn’t deny him. Arme doesn’t push him away. Arme never does. even though he’s wrapped in this chaos, Arme’s power glows, brightly, subconsciously, starts to seep into the cracks of Apos’s skin.

it burns, but Apos feels, and that’s all that matters.

“Apos. what are you doing?”

there’s a tremble in his words. Arme’s emotions betray him.

“I’m tired of this form,” Apos says simply. “you won’t destroy it, so I will.”

“Apos.” Arme wraps an arm around him, flinching as Apos’s form caves against his touch. his voice is sharp, but its confidence is unconvincing. “you can’t do this. your form is what keeps you here.”

Arme doesn’t understand.

so he says, “Arme. do you think the goddess would grant my wish?”

Arme stills. Apos feels the rhythmic pulse of Arme’s core against his own. feels the light that heals him even as his body crumbles into dust. the light that he’s always yearned for, the light Arme never allowed him to have.

because even the goddess is helpless in the face of the abyss.

Apos no longer fears the abyss.

-

the chaos bleeds dry into the grass. there is no evidence but for a small sparkling orb, hovering just above the ground, threads of darkness dripping from it like black water.

Arme brushes the curtain of chaos away, purging it with power of the goddess. he touches the orb gently, feels the coolness sink into his skin. it coils still with the corruption of Henir. Arme was never able to purify Apos of this chaos, was never able to save Apos from this fate. so Apos decided instead to destroy it completely.

to destroy himself.

Arme doesn’t understand. but does he need to?

he holds the orb of green light close to him. stands. the last words Apos gave him, there was a prayer in them. that Apos is still here, even as only light, means the goddess granted it. so Arme, as her emissary in this world, will execute it.

_another chance._

surely, it was a wish for them both.

-

a tether. he has no strength to hold it. but it stays, a calm that steadies his core. like an ebbing tide, it pulls him. like a swaying branch, it rocks him.

he wakes slowly. his limbs don’t ache or pain as they used to. water, warmed from the sun, washes over his legs, laps at his form. there’s a solid form cradling him, holding him. it feels like hand of the goddess. it is not– it can’t be.

he opens his eyes to see the pink petals fluttering outward from an ancient tree. color, light. it’s a clarity he’s long forgotten.

“… Apos?”

he blinks slowly. there’s a tiredness in that voice he can’t place. he feels the tether resonate with his core and the power that flows through it, sustaining him. it is one that he knows.

Arme.

it’s faded, the immense power that brought him back, exhausted. Apos feels arms curl around him and he closes his eyes again.

“there is purpose in our existence,” Arme says, to fill the silence. it’s a reason, an excuse. Apos doesn’t believe it. he’s sure Arme doesn’t believe it either. “until we fulfill it, we cannot rest. we cannot disappear.”

Arme talks too much. Apos reaches up, places his fingers over Arme’s lips. blinks slowly as Arme stares back at him, confused. Apos rests against him comfortably, relishes the calm. the peace. the quiet.

for a moment, he can fool himself into believing his chaos is truly gone.

“Apos. if I had left you alone, you would’ve…”

Arme doesn’t have to finish his sentence for Apos to understand. if Arme didn’t interfere, the chaos would have returned to consume him completely, would have made him its avatar again.

but Arme refused to allow it.

of course. it’s Arme.

Arme who continues to struggle against the truth of existence. Arme who dares challenge the nothingness. Arme who believes there is still a part of Apos that cares for the lie of a mission– who believes Apos still cares for this world.

but there is one thing Apos still cares for.

“don’t use it,” Arme says, and Apos opens his eyes to see Arme press his fingers against his chest. “I locked it away.”

it, the chaos that still broods within his core. Arme could never truly rid him of it, though he tries. it is too ingrained within his being, too essential to his existence. but like this, Apos is calmer. like this, Apos can hold Arme. like this, Apos can– ‘love’– him.

so he does.

Apos curls his fingers against Arme’s cheek. Arme doesn’t flinch this time, only looks at him, perplexed. Apos tilts up his head, lifts himself up slightly, and presses his lips against Arme’s.

Apos pulls away, watches as understanding and confusion mingle in Arme’s blue eyes. Arme glances away, brows furrowed in thought. at the same time, his hand grasps Apos’s tightly.

“rest,” Arme says finally, with finality. Apos closes his eyes, nestles wordlessly against him. “I’ll stay.”

Apos hums absently. even if Arme said nothing, Apos won’t let him go.


	66. 79; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 79; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Arme helps Erblu rest.

it sparks red, the crackling energy suspended around him. the illusions have disappeared, but their injuries have not.

the dunes of the sands whisper of vengeance. there is nothing left to fight, but his fingers itch for something to destroy. they’ve defeated her and her phantom many times before, but this feeling still doesn’t wane.

it’s an emotion he doesn’t often feel.

wrath.

“… Ain?”

that voice. he turns to see confusion, _awe_ in familiar red eyes, and the flow of his magic stutters, short. when he looks at his hand, aglow green with the power of the goddess and El harmonized, he realizes he’s not– and he can’t–

he doesn’t remember how far he’s run when an arm comes to wrap around him firmly. a hand takes his, curling fingers into his palm. holds his power in stasis, even as his Mut threatens to break loose.

the winds course through his clothes, cuts through the sands. there is no healing that surrounds him but the goddess’s attentive light.

he bows his head, leans into it. the comfort that sweeps him into an embrace and cradles him. the soft glow of light that calms his own.

when he wakes, the night has set. the sounds of the wind is muffled by the hollow they rest within. in the crevice to the sky, the stars blink down upon him.

“… Erblu?”

he closes his eyes again, sinks his forehead into Arme’s shoulder.

_“sorry.”_

he cringes at the echo of his own voice, grasps tightly at Arme’s coat. but he can’t release this form. he can’t let it go. so he stays as Arme traces his fingers along the crystal petals of his wings.

his energy starts to calm, circulating like threads of light around his form. Erblu curls his fingers idly, but he still can’t summon his Rein.

eventually, Erblu regains enough of his senses to remember. _“Elsword. did he–”_

“you ran the moment he called for you.”

Erblu stills. it’s not the answer he wanted. the first time the Behemoth raged, he needed to break his pendulum. every time after that, when the nightmares transformed his emotions into chaos, he needed his full celestial power.

but this was the first time Elsword saw him like this.

Erblu clenches his fingers into Arme’s coat. when it comes to being a celestial, he always falls short.

Arme strokes his hair carefully, wraps a heavenly aura around him. even in his human form, Arme commands his celestial power with ease. unlike him, who can’t control his power if he’s even a little bit unnerved. unlike him, who can’t heal anyone when he’s torn up by Mut.

Erblu remembers. _“the others–”_

“there were no severe wounds, just a few scratches,” Arme says, brushes his messy hair from his eyes. “focus on yourself, Erblu. you need to heal yourself.”

so Arme noticed. even though his celestial form rarely betrays his emotions. Erblu lowers his forehead to Arme’s shoulder. he wants to bring out his emotions, to surround them both with soothing Rein. but in this state, he is too tired, fragile.

Arme pulls him closer and Erblu presses himself against him, curls into his lap. Arme’s aura flutters around him like silk threads, tugs at the radiant light soaking Erblu’s clothes. the gentle hum of the heavens pulse against his core and Erblu sets his own to rhythm of it. slowly, he comes to wrap his arms around Arme’s neck.

even though there’s no warmth, he feels warm. even though there’s no melody, he feels his heart sing.

Erblu opens his eyes slightly to see Arme has closed his. the light wisps at him like white feathers and Erblu can see the faint outline of Arme’s wings behind him. but Arme’s still in his human form, holding him tightly. to ground Erblu, to give him something to hold.

Erblu brushes his fingers through Arme’s teal blue hair, curls his fingers into the strands. closes his eyes, lets the light fade from his form and the weight of humanity return.

“Arme.”

and Erblu lays his cheek against Arme’s. Arme stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes, slowly withdrawing his divine aura. Erblu smiles gently, noses at Arme’s cheek curiously, before placing his lips lightly on his cheek.

“thank you.”

Arme opens his eyes and his blank confusion makes Erblu chuckle. but Arme doesn’t ask and Erblu doesn’t want to explain. without prompt, Arme curls his arms even tighter around him, and Erblu pulls Rein around them like a soft blanket, nestles in Arme’s embrace. lets out a content sigh. in this peace, he feels his emotions again.

in this care, he feels love.


	67. 80; (college!au) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 80; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (college!au) Arme takes care of a sick, clingy Erblu.

_“I want ice cream, Arme.”_

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have ice cream when you’re sick, Erblu.”

he hears a sniffle from the other side and then a sneeze. Arme glances into his shopping basket at the box of medicine sitting alone in the corner. with the help of a kind store employee, he’s managed find some in the supermarket. but the instructions say to take them after eating something.

the problem is _what_.

 _“but it’s so hot,”_ Erblu whines. _“and you promised me you’d get me ice cream when I’m done with all my projects. well, I’m done.”_

“at the cost of getting sick.”

 _“let me_ live _, Arme. let me have ice cream.”_

it’s a drowsy sleepy whine, but his phone vibrates against his ear. probably a message from Apos. “hold on, Erblu.”

[ soup ] is the only word in the message. then more clarifying: [ there’s a pot of chicken noodle soup in the fridge ]

Arme furrows his brow. usually Apos cooks for Erblu when Erblu’s sick, but Apos returned home for the weekend to attend his younger brother’s graduation. Arme tucks his shopping basket over his arm to tap out a reply.

[ He ate it all. How do I get more? ]

[ you make it ]

Apos helpfully links a recipe. Arme scrolls past the pictures to the recipe itself, only to see more than two ingredients on the list. he feels a rare bit of panic rise in his chest. Apos knows Arme can’t navigate a kitchen for his life.

[ or buy it canned ] comes Apos’s next message. a picture of a can of soup. and then a drawing of a content mochi ball eating a bowl of noodles. one of Erblu’s creations. [ you can microwave it ]

Arme sighs in relief. [ Thank you, Apos. ]

time to find that employee again.

-

the first thing Arme notices when he returns to Erblu’s room is that the room is too cold. the second thing he notices is that Erblu’s still awake, body curled around his pillow, staring at his phone in a daze. Erblu doesn’t seem to notice him closing the door, so Arme picks up the blankets Erblu’s thrown off the bed and sits himself next to him. plucks Erblu’s phone from his grasp.

“Arme! I was looking at the pictures Apos sent us.”

so that was the million of beeps he received on the way home. Arme glances through the pictures as Erblu pouts into his pillow, fuming. Apos, of course, is not in them, but Wander, his brother, is. trying in vain to evade the camera. [ candid shots of a rare specimen ] Apos comments.

Erblu’s peering over his arm to read the message.

“could you at least tell Apos to tell Wander, I’m super proud of him?”

Arme places a hand into Erblu’s sleep-mussed hair. “if I do, will you actually rest?”

Erblu nods firmly. Arme sends the message quickly, before setting the phone onto the desk nearby and placing a hand over Erblu’s forehead. frowns a little. how can people tell someone’s temperature like this? he reaches over to the desk for the thermometer he used earlier and presses it against Erblu’s lips.

Erblu whines. “I just checked it, Arme. I’m fine.”

but Erblu takes the thermometer into his mouth anyway. Arme stands, walks over to adjust the temperature so the room doesn’t feel like a fridge anymore. then he heads over to the kitchen where he set down the cans of soup and medicine, searches the cabinets for a clean bowl. as Arme reads the instructions on the can, he can hear Erblu sniffle forlornly. so Arme places the bowl of soup into the microwave and returns to the bed.

Erblu’s sitting up now, still holding the pillow in his arms. his usually bright green eyes are blank, and his face is flushed, heated with sickness. but there’s a sparkling softness in his expression Arme doesn’t understand. Arme reaches over to take the thermometer from his mouth, reads it, before setting it back onto the table. he’s better, at least, not as bad as when Arme found him this morning. Arme takes the bowl of water off the desk and heads to the kitchen to rinse the towel. he brings the bowl back, sits at Erblu’s side to wipe at his forehead with the towel.

Erblu hums, reaches up to grasp his wrist loosely. Arme blinks as Erblu leans in, rests his forehead against his shoulder.

“… I want ice cream, Arme.”

it’s a small, tiny plea. Arme knows this. Erblu sounds like he’s about to cry. so Arme wraps an arm around him, steadily, in comfort. stays still even as the microwave beeps for his attention.

Erblu grasps the back of Arme’s shirt, tries and fails to hold another sneeze. he groans, rubs his face into Arme’s shoulder. “I hate being sick.”

“that’s why you should rest.” Arme strokes his back gently and Erblu whines quietly.

when Erblu finally falls asleep, Arme lays him gently onto the bed, tucks the blankets around him. Erblu reaches out subconsciously, catches his hand tightly. Arme tries to tug his hand away, but Erblu won’t let go.

so Arme brushes Erblu’s hair from his forehead tenderly, grasps Erblu’s hand too.

maybe this is alright, maybe this is enough.

-

Arme forgets the soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **college!au** feat. arme / erblu / apos:
> 
> same au background as [here](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/160265966937/72), except with the addition of Arme.
> 
> Arme is an engineering student and an unusually diligent one. already has a job lined up with the firm he’s interning at, so he ends up working himself silly while attending classes. he meets Erblu sometime in their first year of college, after Erblu latched onto him for help on homework one day and never let go. Arme knows Apos through Erblu’s impromptu study nights and slowly comes to appreciate how much Apos knows about adulting. the fact that they’re usually on the same wavelength helps too.
> 
> Erblu’s the type to randomly pick up friends, but Arme and Apos are the only two he seeks out consistently. he decides to put them both in the same group chat when he notices that they text each other often. Apos hangs around Erblu whenever they’re not in classes, but Arme is usually off doing his own thing, until Erblu starts crying for his attention.
> 
> Arme can’t cook. he tried. and the supermarket is a whole ‘nother monster. Apos had to walk him through it the first time Erblu asked him to buy groceries. Erblu can make do with anything that he stashes in the kitchen, but he’s pretty lazy about cooking. Apos is the only one who actually knows how to cook from scratch, but he usually doesn’t, preferring to eat whatever Erblu makes for him or nothing at all. the only exceptions are when Erblu’s up late at night finishing his projects or when Erblu’s sick.
> 
> Apos has a younger brother, Wander, whom he dotes on and terrorizes at the same time. Apos has a habit of thoroughly destroying every one of Wander’s hopes and dreams, most of the time unintentionally, so their relationship is a bit. but Wander’s the only reason Apos knows how to fend for himself and the only reason Apos bothers trying to finish college.
> 
> they’re all in their third year.  
> 


	68. 81; executor / anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 81; Lofty Executor / Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Wander turns into a small bunny. Executor is sick of dealing with transformation magic. Anpassen thinks it’s adorable.

there is a frown on Executor’s lips. not the instinctive frown he normally has on, mind, but a very displeased frown. he’s leaned against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, as a small gray bunny rests on his chest, sleeping soundly. Anpassen stops a few feet away from the forest clearing, just to relish the rare sight.

Executor knows he’s there. the other celestial’s senses has always been more acute than his own.

“Anpassen, what are you doing?”

the sharpness of his voice makes the bunny twitch and burrow further into Executor’s chest. puffs out into a tiny gray ball. like what Wander does usually, when Executor allows Wander to rest with him.

Anpassen feels something within him melt.

“nothing. I was just thinking about how cute you both are.”

Executor’s frown only deepens, his cool green eyes piercing, as Anpassen approaches, smiling softly.

“why?” it’s not a question. “if you can’t tell, Wander-- is still this bunny.”

it was early this morning when Executor sought Anpassen out, completely frantic, holding a small bunny carefully in the crook of his arm. something about hunting demons in shadow forest again and Wander attempting to deflect magic off the both of them, and then turning into-- this. a bunny. a small loppy eared bunny.

Anpassen has seen something similar before.

it’s obvious Executor does not like Wander like this. but Anpassen can’t deny that Wander is cute. not like he isn’t usually. but as a bunny, he’s small, fluffable. and even more inclined to search for Executor’s protection. and even more likely to be given it.

Anpassen was surprised Executor even panicked. Executor usually acts as if emotions are beyond him, and as the one closest to the goddess, Executor should know that celestials don’t normally have forms at all. so it’s not strange that Wander’s form changed into one that’s nonhuman.

eventually, Executor calmed down enough to listen to reason. and after Anpassen offered to ask Miss Mage about it. as a Dark Magician, she should know a thing or two about dark magic.

Anpassen prefers having Wander to having a bunny anyway. cute as he is right now, nuzzled against Executor’s arm, snoozing in Executor’s soft, caring light.

Executor himself is not so soft. “so? what did she say?”

Anpassen places a gentle hand on Wander, pets him. “she said, it’d take an incredibly strong magician to permanently transform a being into another. and all incredibly strong magicians have been cast out as heretics.” Anpassen won’t tell Executor that he stopped listening to Miss Mage after she started to ramble about heretics. “so it’s probably temporary.”

“good,” Executor says, bringing his hand tenderly against the soft fur, fingers bumping into Anpassen’s briefly. then in a tiny whisper, he says, “good.”

there’s an emotion rising within Executor’s divine aura, tickling against Anpassen’s own. Anpassen isn’t sure what it is, but there is one. so Anpassen pushes it, a little.

“he’ll probably need more of this-- attention,” Anpassen says, a smile curving on his lips. he knows what it should be called-- he’s just not sure if it applies to Executor, to a celestial. “your protection, you know. you don’t notice it, but Wander always wants to be around you.”

Executor is silent for a moment. then, with his signature bluntness, he says, “then I’ll wait for him to turn back. did you think I’d leave him like this?”

“no. I knew you wouldn’t.” Anpassen sits beside him against the tree, rests against Executor. when it comes to waiting, when it comes to Wander, Executor is patient, kind. even if Wander doesn’t see it, doesn’t notice it.

“well, if you’re staying, bring out your healing thing,” Executor says, obviously referring to Blatt Blume, Rein. “the yellow one.”

“hm?” Anpassen tilts his head, but Executor doesn’t look him in the eye. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

Executor huffs. “it’s helpful. it appears to heal. it may just as well heal Wander.”

Anpassen doubts it, but he does so, gladly. after all, Executor rarely acknowledges the power of his Eids. Anpassen curls his fingers to infuse his hand with emotion, kindness, care. Executor grabs Anpassen’s other hand as Rein’s healing glow tinges the air surrounding. the Eid are still foreign to Executor, its warmth strange. Executor closes his eyes, wraps his hand around Wander securely, and leans into Anpassen.

Anpassen decides to stay. he can’t leave Wander or Executor alone either.

it’s not like those errands need to get done today anyway.  



	69. 82; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 82; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Apos is tired. being with Arme always fixes that.

the ground is hard. Apos is laying down, knees pulled up against his chest, staring at the space in front of him. his chaos swirls in tepid strands around him. he shifts slightly, hearing the crunch of the ground against his head, when he feels something enter his realm of chaos.

“Apos, what are you doing?”

it doesn’t need an answer. Arme likes to ask unnecessary questions. so Apos pulls himself into a tighter ball and closes his eyes, because he doesn’t feel like moving otherwise. he hears a sigh and feels Arme’s presence come in beside him.

silence. stillness.

then, arms tuck under him, lift him up with just the barest exertion. for some reason, Arme dislikes direct contact with the ground. Apos doesn’t care. there’s very little Apos cares about. Arme lays Apos over his lap, his hands carefully avoiding Apos’s corrupted skin. Apos rests his head against Arme’s shoulder, nuzzles up against Arme’s chest. particles of celestial energy rise from Arme’s form, brush at his skin, senses the murmur of his humming core.

“if you have energy, you should rest properly.”

rest properly? he is resting. Apos opens his eyes slightly to see Arme’s lips pulled into a frown. Arme looks cute as always. Apos raises his hand to Arme’s face, presses his fingers against Arme’s mouth. Arme furrows his brow, as Apos traces his index finger along Arme’s lips, tilting his head inquisitively. curls two fingers into Arme’s mouth.

it’s interesting, how human their forms have become.

eventually, Arme turns away, brow crinkled. anger? irritation? Apos doesn’t care– it’s a reaction. he’s created something from nothing. Apos lowers his hand, tucks himself in Arme’s hold. lets his eyes fall, gaze far off into the wasted expense, shattered ruins. one of his own doing. existence annoys him. and existence exhausts him.

“Arme,” he asks, as he usually does, “why can’t I disappear?”

“I won’t let you,” Arme says automatically.

Apos decides to entertain it, push him this time. “why?”

“… because,” Arme says, after a thoughtful moment. “you are wrong about the truth of the world. I will prove that to you.”

Apos doesn’t understand. Arme proved it long, long ago. but if it means Arme will continue to hold him, Apos will let him believe he still hasn’t. because unlike him, Arme is still capable of believing. still capable of caring. it’s intriguing.

it’s cute.

Apos brushes his hand idly against Arme’s chest, fingers with the gold emblem resting over his core. sharp, firm. like Arme. the white cloth of his coat runs gently against his fingertips and Apos reaches up to touch the skin at Arme’s throat. soft, delicate. Arme grabs his hand to stop him, but Apos only pulls Arme’s hand toward him, brings it to his lips. mouths each finger in turn and watches Arme stiffen at the touch.

after the third finger, Arme pulls his hand from Apos, but Apos is already satisfied. Apos feels his lips pull back and a phantom emotion curl within his core. Arme frowns at him, but he still doesn’t pull away.

his mission, his purpose, he doesn’t care anymore. but the reason he still exists– it is this.

it is Arme.  



	70. 83; (foxgod!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 83; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (foxgod!au; they’re heavenly spirits, descended from gods. they say if you find one, they will grant your deepest desire. they say if you save one, they will serve you for a lifetime.) Apos returns home, to Erblu.
> 
> related: [59](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159152911571/59) 

the lullaby of the crickets hums in the spring evening, invites the night breeze through the gap of the sliding door, and the chill too. the lamp has gone out in the house, smoke curling upward, dancing across the paper screen, even as an unmoving shadow, barely perceptible in the dim light, remains still. Apos has barely nudged the door open when he hears a quiet hum.

“I thought it was you. Apos.”

Apos bows, lets his celestial fox form unfurl, returning into his human form. Erblu smiles gently, reaches out with a gentle hand, touches the soft fox ears atop Apos’s head. slowly, Apos moves to drape himself against Erblu’s chest, feels Erblu rumble with laughter. 

“if you missed me, then you should stop leaving, Apos.”

there is a loneliness in Erblu’s amusement that reminds Apos of the guilt weighing down his heart. Apos curls one of his tails around Erblu’s hand, buries his face into Erblu’s gray hair. a hum, a gentle caress of the thick fur of his tail, and Erblu unfolds his own fox ears out, twitches them against Apos’s fingers. Apos noses against one of his ears for a while, tickling him, before finally stilling, curling up into Erblu’s arms.

Erblu’s started teasing the ribbon at the end of his braid, tugs it loose to run his hand through it. clicks his tongue.

“your hair is covered in ash, Apos. were you running from something?”

Apos was. he always has to. the gates of Velder are closely guarded. and though Arme himself won’t hurt him, his subordinates will.

Erblu sighs, reading his silence. his fingers curl into the strands behind Apos’s neck, while his other hand strokes around the base of his tail gently. Apos shuffles against him contentedly, curls his other three tails around Erblu, brushes against the silk of his robes. hopes Erblu will refrain from asking.

“tell me, Apos, since you visited him: how is Arme?”

but Erblu always asks. Erblu always knows where he goes. Apos closes his eyes, remembers the slight limp in Arme’s step when Arme chased him through the camp. every other time, Arme would have made it out to the forest clearing, tackled him down, and– stayed with him, and held him as they rested for the night.

Apos feels empty inside. and so his words do too.

“he is well.”

Erblu moves to touch the eyepatch hiding his left eye. the space burns as it always does, but Erblu folds his fingers against it tenderly. “Apos. you need to remember you cannot lie to me.”

Apos says nothing. it has become a habit to lie, because humans fall for them too easily. because celestials like them do not fall for tricks. celestials like them do not lie. 

Apos has lived too long with the humans.

“then I suppose he is injured.” Erblu’s words are wrapped with sadness. “I still do not understand why he insists on sacrificing himself for this human.”

Apos does not understand either. Erblu has never seen him, but the red-haired human Arme serves is a rash young man, determined to see through a fanatical prophecy. but all the same, Apos understands, because he too woke up in the arms of a kind human. a young girl with locks of silver, who smiled even as she cried.

she reminded him of Erblu.

the guilt that eats him from inside does not end.

Apos lowers his hand, brushes it against Erblu’s back. with a soft exhale, Erblu allows his tails to manifest, slowly, as if rising from sleep. as usual, there is three– not the four tails he should have, one for each century that passes. the fourth is only a stub, the injury long healed, and Apos grasps it, fingers rubbing the bump of it gently.

Erblu lowers his head at the touch. Apos feels something wet stain through the thin fabric of his shoulder. before Apos can pull away, before Apos can raise Erblu’s head, before Apos can look at his face, Erblu grabs him, holds Apos tightly against himself.

“tomorrow,” Erblu says. “I will make some medicine. will you deliver it to Arme?”

Apos nods. nudges his nose into Erblu’s soft ear. Erblu inhales deeply, folds himself into Apos’s arms.

“for tonight, will you stay?”

Apos nods again, holds him quietly. the moonlight shines with the dimness of a lonely lantern. in the stillness, accompanied by the sounds of trickling water, they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > On the deep spring days and freezing days of snow  
> I want to spend every moment of every day with you  
> These dyeing colors will continue ever onward  
> To see a landscape that no one has ever seen before
>> 
>> REOL - [宵々古今](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IK6eLTNV1k) | [lyrics ](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/yoiyoi-kokon-%E5%AE%B5%E3%80%85%E5%8F%A4%E4%BB%8A-evenings-past-and-present.html)
> 
> * * *
> 
> foxgod!au notes:
>
>> “heavenly spirits, descended from gods. they say if you find one, they’ll grant your deepest desire. they say if you save one, they’ll serve you for a lifetime.”
> 
> read [this](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159152911571/59) first for more background setting.
> 
> the Ains are celestial fox spirits, heavenly spirits capable of taking on human form. the number of tails they have reflect the number of centuries they have lived– they all have four. as humans, they appear in their early twenties. though he’s the youngest, Erblu was the first to obtain the ability to transform into a human and has interacted with humans the most. Arme and Apos are more naive because of their lack of exposure to humans, and they still view most humans with suspicion and contempt.
> 
> Erblu’s old master was a medicine man, who found a sickly fox lying in the winter snow. after being nursed back to health, Erblu returns to him as a human, serving under him as an apprentice. much of what he knows about humans he learned in those three decades, living with his old master. it ends when Erblu loses one of his tails in a traumatic incident and he loses his trust in humans. the house Erblu lives in now was a gift his master offered him, as a final tribute and apology. it has been nearly two hundred years since.
> 
> Arme’s master is a young commander, Elsword (Lord Knight). Elsword was the first human Arme directly interacted with, when Elsword saved a fox from drowning in a river. determined to repay him, Arme picks up the sword and joins the Velder Army, rapidly ascending the ranks to stand at Elsword’s right hand. he tries to heed Erblu’s warnings, but he’s stubbornly dedicated to his master and his mission: to restore the El.
> 
> Apos’s master was and still is the Priestess of the Moon, Harnier, whose sole duty is to care for the unstable El in the Xin Empire. one day, the priestess finds a fox in the mountains, severely wounded, and cares for him until he recovers. Apos decides to stay with her, training himself as an assassin, serving the empire in order to serve her. he perseveres through multiple injuries, including losing sight in his left eye, but after one of Xin’s orders leaves him near death at Arme’s hands, he finally listens to Erblu and abandons the empire and, by extension, her.
> 
> Arme and Apos are both fiercely protective of Erblu. so although they naturally wander, they return to Erblu from time to time.


	71. 84; (college!au) arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 84; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (college!au) Arme is sick. Erblu tries to get him to rest and Apos handles it his own way.
> 
>  _related_ : 72, 80

Arme stares at the kettle as he waits for it to boil. the steam rise, whistling loudly, before it finally turns off. he continues to watch it blankly, as the sunlight peers in through the window and bathes the world in silence. it’s rare for him to experience such a peaceful weekday morning because his days never are. he feels the blanket over his shoulders slip off slightly as he takes the kettle off the stove, pours the water into a mug.

and onto the countertop too. Arme blinks at the spilled water, eyes bleary.

he’s up. he shouldn’t be up. but he has nothing else to do. Erblu confiscated his class assignments and the plot plans he brought home from work yesterday. he can’t just go to class either. because Erblu asked Apos to go and take notes for him. Apos doesn’t even go to his own classes, but if Erblu asked, he’ll sit in and take notes, willingly. after the first two times Apos came back to him with meticulously neat notes, Arme stopped trying to ask why.

so Arme’s stuck at home, at Erblu’s insistence. he watches the steam waft from the cup before dropping in a bag of black tea.

Erblu is overreacting. he isn’t even that sick. Erblu called in sick for work for him and the office didn’t question him. they should have. he doesn’t even feel that bad. he took medicine. he can work.

Arme sneezes, wipes his nose, and picks up his cup of tea. lets the steam soothe his sinuses. maybe he should get his laundry done today. he didn’t have the time to do it last weekend.

he doesn’t hear the door click open.

“you look sick.”

Arme looks up to see Apos shutting the door with his foot, a paper bag in his arms. Arme rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Apos approaches him, silently as he usually does, and looks at his tea, before he takes the cup from his hands and inexplicably pours it down the drain. Arme stares into the sink with confusion, as it drains slowly, still boiling hot.

Apos fills the cup with water and hands it to him. he digs into the bag to find a package of pills, tears it open. Arme eyes the lettering on the package, spying the words “nighttime cold medicine.”

“I took non-drowsy pills earlier, Apos.”

“sick people are easier to take care of when they’re asleep,” Apos says simply, handing the pills to him. so that’s why. the caffeine in black tea would keep him up. “take it, unless you want me to knock you out manually.”

Arme sighs, but Apos means well. Arme swallows the pills, rests against the counter, watches as Apos dumps the rest of the contents of the bag onto the counter and sorts through the groceries.

Arme doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he’s nearly nodding off when Apos tucks his arms around him and lifts him up, carrying him over to the futon. Arme feels himself fall limply against the pillow, as Apos shakes out the blankets, tucks him in. comes to sit next to him. when Arme tries to move, Apos holds him down. “sleep.”

“but I’m not sick,” Arme mutters, but lays down obediently anyway. shifts to rest his head against Apos’s leg, closes his eyes.

he doesn’t sleep. or maybe he does. in the next moment, he hears the door creak open and a bit of shuffling, before a cool hand comes over his forehead, tickles the fringe of his hair. feels a softness against his cheek.

when he opens his eyes, Erblu’s smiling at him gently, sitting on the floor in front of the futon, leaning his cheek against Arme’s. rubs his cheek against his, until Arme finally places a hand on his head, to a quiet oof.

“did you eat anything? sit tight. I’ll make you something nice.”

“I… I can…” Arme mumbles, tries to extricate himself from the blankets. but the blankets are tangled around his limbs and he isn’t coordinated enough to remove them, so when Apos yanks him by the back of his shirt, he collapses into Apos’s lap again. his vision spins, but he feels something warm grasp his hand.

“take it easy, Arme. you’ve been working really hard lately,” and Erblu places a light kiss on his forehead. he feels a warmth bloom outward from that spot, though he doesn’t understand. “get some rest. you deserve it.”

Arme furrows his brow and Erblu laughs a little. Apos places a hand against Arme’s face, holds him down when Erblu pulls away.

“you heard him,” Apos says. “rest.”

rest. Arme lets out a breath and closes his eyes, feels himself float in quiet stillness. perhaps, it would be good to rest.


	72. 85; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 85; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> Erblu and Apos discover ice cream.

he finds Erblu sitting at the edge of a fountain in the center of Hamel, his coat draped onto the ledge next to him, kicking his bare feet into the water. he’s humming, a gentle melody harmonizing with the rushing of the stream, a sparkling green aura radiating around him.

Eeblu senses him already, so when Apos creeps up behind him to lay his chin on Erblu’s shoulder, he only laughs.

“I was wondering when you’d show up, Apos.” Erblu leans his head against Apos’s, peers up at him with warm green eyes. “wanna try some?”

Apos blinks at the object Erblu’s offering to him. it’s cone-shaped, topped by a white sphere. Apos’s seen humans consume them before. he’s never tried it because celestials don’t consume food.

“it’s called ‘ice cream,’” Erblu says, gives the sphere portion part a meaningful lick. it drips a little, a viscous liquid rolling along the brown cone. “according to Chung, it’s made from milk and ice. but it… doesn’t taste like either, honestly. Elsword says it’s good because it’s sweet. but it doesn’t have the same texture of chocolate, which is also sweet. or cake. so what does ‘sweet’ even mean?”

Apos doesn’t answer, because Erblu never expects one. Apos moves to sit himself behind Erblu, curls his arms around his stomach, sets his chin contentedly on Erblu’s shoulder again. Erblu’s warm, as always, a pulsing bubble of warmth. Erblu leans away a little, adjusting himself to nestle into Apos’s hug.

“here, try it. maybe you have better sense of taste than I do.”

before Apos can turn away, Erblu has pushed the ‘ice cream’ up against his lips. it’s cold, and nothing else. Apos mouths at it loosely, before pulling away, licking his lips clean.

“what do you think? does it taste good?” Erblu asks, bumping his cheek against Apos’s.

“it’s cold,” is all Apos says. Erblu chuckles, then takes a bite out of the ice cream. Apos watches as a bit of the melted ice cream dribble down from the edge of Erblu’s lips. stares at it thoughtfully as Erblu tries to lick it up with his tongue. futilely. cutely.

“Apos?” but Apos has already taken Erblu’s chin between his fingers and leaned into his space. he opens his mouth to lick the liquid off Erblu’s chin. it’s not as cold as it was solid, but it’s not warm either.

“tastes the same,” Apos murmurs.

he doesn’t notice the pinkness on Erblu’s cheeks until Erblu has pulled away from him, hiding his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Apos, don’t surprise me like that,” Erblu laughs, nuzzles his face into Apos’s neck. Apos only blinks, curls his arms around Erblu firmly, looks away. if he wanted to, then he will. Apos settles against Erblu, closes his eyes, feels lips brush gently over his cheek.

when he opens his eyes again, Erblu is smiling, soft, tender. Apos doesn’t understand, the meaning of his smile or the meaning of this warmth. Erblu returns his attention to his ice cream, kicks his feet out into the water.

“you know, it’s nice being human sometimes,” Erblu says absently, a trace of _something_ in his voice. he gives the ice cream another lick. “... but I wish you could feel this too. then I wouldn’t be alone, like this. feeling this strange emotion.”

Apos lowers his eyes, gazes into the rumbling waters of the fountain. if Erblu is talking about this warmth, then Apos already feels it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _random celestial!headcanons:_
> 
> celestials don’t need to eat, so their perception of food and taste of food is a bit off. they can only really decipher texture and temperature. taste needs to be acquired, so Erblu sometimes ends up messing up when trying something new. usually, he copies Elsword to be safe, but it doesn’t work all the time. (he’s oversalted his fish once and had no idea why everyone was staring at him in abject horror. he doesn’t touch the condiments anymore.)
> 
> Erblu has the most exposure to food mostly because it’d be weird if he _didn’t_ eat something, but it’s something he views as an interesting human ritual rather than something essential to his being. Arme and Apos don’t consume any food on a regular basis, so if they do, it’s usually because Erblu made them.


	73. 86; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 86; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Arme doesn’t understand Apos.

Apos tails him, constantly.

Arme isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t care to find out. let the lost celestial follow him, perhaps he’ll find what he’s looking for. let the wandering celestial walk with him, perhaps he’ll remember his own mission. let the broken celestial stay with him, and perhaps he’ll know the goddess again.

but those hollow green eyes shine only with chaos and ruin, dulled with emptiness, detachment. Arme knows if he asked, Apos won’t give him an answer.

so Arme lets him. there’s little he can do about a being with such immense power, especially one that draws directly from the cursed god that is the void. because Arme has his own mission to complete, to fulfill-- he can’t be distracted.

though it distracts him. the simmering chaos that broods near him, threatens to boil over. Arme barely sidesteps a crumbling stone as it clips his wings, allows a few feathers to fracture into bits of light. Lanox is a daunting hellscape, an incredible furnace and demonic breeding grounds both, and with Apos around constantly, he’s become too careless.

Arme doesn’t have time to pull out his projections when the magma reanimates before him, demon-possessed. but they explode anyway and the negative spheres dissipate into nothingness. when Arme turns back, Apos is lowering his hand, particles of chaos shattering around his fingers. his eyes remain blank, his expression absent, reserved.

Arme can’t read it. he doesn’t understand. so Arme turns away, continues his trek through the volcanic land. tries to ignore the chaos that molds the world like clay around him.

Apos’s power is different, though only superficially. the projections Apos creates rise, rather than fall, form into spears like oozing glass. not from the air infused with the lifeblood of the world but from the ground, dredged up from the primordial itself. Arme knows it intimately. Apos has run Arme through with them before, used them to pin him down, hold him. but the chaos doesn’t unnerve him so much, not as much as Apos’s very existence does.

because empty as they are, Apos’s eyes reflect like his own. a mirror without emotions, because like Arme, Apos has none. because corrupted as he is, Apos is still a celestial, albeit one completely detached from the goddess.

so what is the difference between him and Apos? what prevents him from meeting the same fate? only his faith? only his belief? … only?

Apos has influenced him too much.

when Apos runs his spears through another smattering of demons, Arme turns to face him again. Apos pauses where he stands, tilts his head. dares to feign innocence.

“what do you want, Apos?”

Apos blinks at him, doesn’t answer. like it’s obvious, what he wants. but it’s not. not to Arme.

Apos closes the distance, the pebbles parting around his feet, sweeping chaos paving his way. when Apos comes too close, Arme can feel the chaos particulate sharding his divinity. Arme makes to pull away, but Apos catches him by the wrist.

Arme waits, but Apos says nothing. slowly, he pries open Arme’s fist, one finger at a time, and tucks his fingers into Arme’s hand.

Arme knows this, he thinks. the silent request. “if you want the goddess, I can--”

a finger comes to his lips, stops him. Apos’s words are a quiet whisper. “I don’t want the goddess. I want you.”

there’s something in those eyes Arme doesn’t understand. it smolders. an emotion. a _need_. but it makes no sense. celestials are extensions of the goddess, her grace given form. there is no distinction between himself and the goddess.

he says so. “Apos, you can’t just deny the goddess. have you forgotten that we cannot exist without--”

but Arme doesn’t finish his sentence. Apos draws him in, pushes his lips against Arme’s. when Apos finally pulls away, Arme covers his mouth with his hand, curls his fingers over his lips. he feels the trace of it. the insistence, the _hunger_.

there’s an emotion on Apos’s face. it chills him, washes him with ice. because Arme has never seen Apos _smile_.

“I don’t need the goddess, Arme. I made you my god.”

Arme doesn’t understand.

he doesn’t _understand_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _I'd sell you my soul, if all it bought was another day_  
>  I'd give you my love, if all I got was a heartbreak  
> Please save me from hell, 'cause I've got one foot in the grave  
> If I made you my God  
> The Devil may cry  
> 
>> 
>> Mako - [Devil May Cry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGuzSXMF7nU) | [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/mako/devilmaycry.html)


	74. 87; arme / erblu, executor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 87; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion, Lofty Executor (mentions of Lofty Anpassen)
> 
> Executor meets _himself_ from the future. Arme gives him some vague, maybe helpful advice.

“you will understand.”

Executor’s looking at him skeptically, when Arme places a hand on his hair, touches him with the gentle glow of the goddess. Arme retracts his hand before Executor can react.

good. that’s– good.

Executor turns away, before Arme notices it, rubs at his face with his hand. human emotions are strange and unnecessary. unsurprisingly, Arme is unhelpful in this respect. but he can’t ask Anpassen– he’d just encourage him to embrace it as usual. and there’s no way he can ask Erblu.

Executor shoves _that_ memory to the back of his mind.

Arme notices. “… is something bothering you? – Executor.”

Arme’s gazing at him, light blue eyes sharp, keen. concerned. Executor wonders if he should be feeling this way. if he, a celestial, is allowed to feel this way.

“it’s nothing,” Executor says easily, fiddling with the cuff of his coat sleeve.

“don’t lie,” Arme says bluntly. Executor isn’t surprised to hear it– Arme is _himself_ , after all– but the habits he learned as a human are hard to let go. “if you don’t want to discuss it, say so.”

maybe he does. maybe he doesn’t. that he is indecisive on that matter is terrifying. these emotions are ridiculous. humanity is ridiculous.

but Arme places his hand onto his hair again, brushes the gray strands from his left eye. traces the space above his eye with a careful finger in the shape of the glyph. it lights up, flickers in pain.

Executor brushes his hand away. “don’t bother. I’ll become stronger. and I’ll purge it.”

Arme says nothing, lets his hand fall to his side. observes him. eventually, Arme says absently, “don’t lose sight of what has become important to you.”

“I know,” Executor answers. “the mission.”

“I wasn’t talking about the mission.”

Executor looks up, meets Arme’s impassive gaze. what beside the mission is he talking about? is there some other threat he doesn’t know of yet?

Arme appears thoughtful for a moment, before he steps closer to him. Executor can feel it, the divine hum of the air when Arme bends it to his will. his power is soft, cool, and it reminds him of the heavenly sanctuary he was created in.

before Executor knows it, Arme has wrapped his arms around him. it’s careful, precise, and it lulls him into rest, but when Arme doesn’t step back, Executor fidgets, tries to pull away. but Arme’s aura is comforting and Executor’s will is weak. this human soul is _weak_.

“… – Arme,” Executor stutters out, because it’s still weird to say that name aloud, because he knows Arme is _himself_. “what are you doing?”

“a ‘hug.’” the way Arme says it makes Executor think he doesn’t believe it. Arme wrinkles his brow a little. “Erblu said you needed one. have you been resting properly?”

he hasn’t. … he hasn’t, lately. between fighting the demons and watching out for Anpassen– he hasn’t truly rested for awhile. but to say so is to admit weakness. and he can’t appear weak. especially not to Arme.

“… trust him more,” Arme says, casually reading him. “– Anpassen.”

“what do you mean by that?”

“there is a unique strength in emotions,” Arme says. Executor frowns when Arme shrugs. “unfortunately, I don’t understand it. as you are now though, you are still capable of understanding.”

Executor bites back his words. but Arme continues, as if he heard them anyway, “but if you don’t want to understand, then that’s the path you’ve chosen.”

those blue eyes are careful, measured, distant. so Executor asks, “was that the path you took?”

Arme doesn’t say anything. Executor feels stupid. clearly, it is. it is the same path Executor wants to take. – but was it the right one? is this path the one he should take? is that a question he’s allowed to ask? … is this something he’s allowed to doubt?

Anpassen should have never found that stupid portal.

a hand comes to the back of his head, tickles the strands with a healing aura. he feels Arme’s core pulse gently against his own, the soft feathering of seraphim wings caressing around his form. he feels his own wings, tiny, fluttering, strain out to meet them. Executor closes his eyes slowly, slumps into Arme’s embrace, listens to the steady beat of the goddess’s power.

“so you’ll accept Arme’s hug, but you won’t accept mine?”

Executor snaps open his eyes to meet Erblu’s smiling gaze. he drops his wings as he untangles himself quickly, tries to collect himself again.

“you interrupted us,” Arme says, somehow completely unfazed. “I was restoring his energy.”

“I’m jealous,” Erblu pouts, comes to wrap his arms around Arme’s shoulders. Arme doesn’t push him away. “restore my energy too, Arme.”

“you clearly have enough, Erblu.”

but Erblu nuzzles into him happily anyway and Arme sighs. Executor frowns. he doesn’t understand Erblu at all– especially since Erblu is _Anpassen_. Executor can’t imagine a celestial so at ease with human emotions. can’t imagine Anpassen forfeiting his celestial power for this. after all, it’s only that power that keeps him protected.

“where’s Anpassen? weren’t you going to show him something?” Arme asks Erblu. “a melody?

“about that– uh.” Erblu scratches his cheek, an unusual, gentleness in his expression. there’s a flicker of worry in his green eyes that makes Executor feel– restless. “he fell asleep. he’s probably exhausted, so I left him in Blume Rein. think you can help me carry him back, Arme–”

Executor doesn’t wait for the rest of it when he darts away, spreading his white wings from behind him.

“– or not.”

_“could I ask you a question?”_

_“if it doesn’t interfere with the timeline, then you can.”_

_“if Erblu is really Anpassen and you’re– me, how can you tolerate the fact that he’s accepted humanity?”_

_Arme gazes at him thoughtfully, before answering, “because this is the path he chose.” a beat and then,” emotions don’t make you weak.”_

_Executor frowns. “… I don’t understand what you mean.”_

_“you don’t now. but you will see.”_


	75. 88; (divergence) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 88; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (canon divergence) restoring the El took a power that exceeded them both. Erblu returned because Elsword called him back. there was no one to call Arme back.

it leaks a quiet serenity, the sanctuary of trees. it’s this and the sparkling dust motes that he wakes up to, softly welcoming him into its embrace. the El sits upon the broken stone pedestal, tendrils of energy soaking the glade with emerald life.

in his hands is light too, faded remnants rising. when he curls his fingers, he can feel the echoes of memories lost. his memories– theirs.

but he can remember nothing. the light bathes him in warmth, and he feels a presence come toward him, reaches for his hands with care.

when he opens his eyes, he sees blue. a sharp, crystal blue of the heavens. familiar– unfamiliar. there is an expression on the woman’s face that is kind– different. something stirs within him, but her smile calms him too.

“… I don’t understand,” he says. there’s a hollow in his heart, something missing within his core. his memory lay in fragments before him and the only thing he remembers is a burst of white light and then–

emptiness.

her gaze is probing, understanding. “your friends know you by the name of _Ain_ , though the name you were given is _Ainchase_.”

he lowers his eyes. puts names to the images in his mind. the El, Elysion. Solace. the El Lady.

the explosion. he remembers the power of El brimming from behind the cracks– and his power reaching out to stay it.

there is still something he can’t remember. a flash of holy blue light that joined him, that helped him stop the explosion in place. the hand upon his wrist carefully turns his hand so his palm faces up and a disparate light draws into his hand.

“however, you had one more name. _Erbluhen Emotion_ ,” she says. “and to him, you were _Erblu_.”

his eyes open wide in realization.

“rest,” she insists, lowers him gently back into the crook of the tree. when he looks up, he recognizes her, silver-white locks tinged with the blue of divinity. the El Lady. she, who is like him, an avatar of the goddess. “your friends insisted that you stay here until you have regained your strength.”

“I don’t understand,” he says again, with far more clarity than he possessed the first time. “why am I here? why–”

_“listen, Ainchase.”_ and he stills, caught by the resonant voice of the goddess. the echo fades and the kindness returns. “you have completed your mission. however, you are here because Elsword willed you to return. what you do now is your own choice.”

“… then what…” he swallows back his emotions, his voice caught in his throat. “… what about Arme?”

that name doesn’t faze her. she lowers her eyes to his hand and he follows her gaze, lets her shift his hands to cup the tiny ball of light.

when he understands, he can feel his heart settle like a stone inside of him.

she says nothing more. the light sparkles, innocently, unknowingly, bubbles softly in their clasped hands. Erblu bows his head and lets his tears fall.

-

it’s been a few months since the El Lady returned to Elrios. a few months since the El Search Party set off to find the final piece of the shattered El– the Dark El, hidden in the mountains of Fahrmann. the restored core lies in Ruben, though the El Lady stays in Velder, in attendance of the Earth El, and under the protection of the kingdom.

it’s been a few months since Erblu chose to remain at the Earth Temple. a few months since he started assisting the priestesses and citizens, helping Velder reconstruct their city, beating back occasional sprigs of darkness gathering at the outskirts. he recovers his power still, surrounded by blooming flowers and verdant leaves.

it’s been only a few months.

only a few months since Arme poured his all his divine power into the El and returned to being a tiny ball of light.

it is mid-morning when Erblu finishes running his errands in town. a delivery of ore in exchange for a few steamed buns, an accessory set in exchange for new linens, and a message from the palace to give to the priestesses. the distance between the town and the temple is a few hours of walking, and he would fly, if it hadn’t become so difficult for him now.

when Erblu returns the temple, he places the buns upon the stone table in the center room, tucks the letter underneath them. he darts silently out the large stone archway and toward the expansive garden where the Earth El sits.

toward the tiny crevice where the small, faded light that is Arme rests.

_“why is he still here?” he asks her, his voice crumbling, small. “are we not supposed to disappear when our mission is complete?”_

_“everything created by the goddess will return to the goddess,” she says gently, as the small orb of green light hovers from him and into her hand. “but. he is still here.”_

_“yes, he… he is,” Erblu swallows his tears, watches as the El Lady nudges the orb to return to him. Erblu holds it, feels its familiar presence, allows it to rest against his heart. “does that mean…”_

_“there is something in this world that draws him here. but he has no power to respond to it. perhaps, you can help him find his way back to you.”_

_“how?”_

_her smile is only kind. “give him something to grasp. something that is yours only. I believe there is a reason he is here with you.”_

the ruins are covered in vines, but aglow with pink petals and rainwater. the Earth El hums a gentle hymn, bathes the streams with its purity. he ducks between the curtains of vines to venture deeper into the garden.

in a small crevice of a tree, at the edge of the stream, Erblu finds a shining glowing orb. like a wisp, a spirit, though Erblu knows better. he opens his hands, moves the power of the El around him.

slowly, the orb floats toward him, flickers a cool green. he tugs gently at the rays of light radiating from it, but he feels barely a ripple in response. Erblu lowers his head slightly. restoring the El took a power that exceeded them both. Erblu only returned because Elsword called him back and gave him the choice to stay.

there was no one to call Arme back.

if he had limitless connection to the goddess, he would’ve done it already. if he had enough energy to restore the El, Arme wouldn’t be like this. if he had been able to stop the explosion on his own, Arme wouldn’t have had needed to sacrifice himself.

Erblu curls his hands, tucks the light against his chest, where he knows the life-giving force of El thrums through his veins. but it’s a naive hope that this warmth will reach him, a hopeless prayer that Arme will sense it and return.

because Arme is fully a celestial of the goddess. no amount of El can restore his form. no amount of earthly magic can bring him back.

so why did the El Lady tell him _he_ could?

when Erblu wakes, it is already dusk. he stands, legs wobbling beneath him, and the light glimmers, tucked silently in the crook of his arm.

in the bare twilight, the lanterns flicker from the walls, illuminate the rooms. when he passes the center room, he notices the steamed buns are gone and so is the letter. Erblu continues on through, descending the stairs, before he reaches the tiny room the priestesses have given him.

it is only here where the light departs from him, here in the small room Erblu calls his own. it hovers near the candlelight, touches upon the tiny plants dotting the stone windowsill. curls along the trinkets hanging from the ceiling, colorful glass panes that deflect light filtering in through the window. Erblu removes his coat, hangs it at the back of the door, moves to shake out the covers of his bed.

when he settles in, he drifts. it’s been so many nights, like this, alone. the light touches upon him, nestles against his chest. like a pulsing beat, it comforts. soothes. _cares_.

even as just _light_ , Arme still knows what Erblu needs.

-

_“you know, you really don’t look so good,” Elsword says offhandedly, in the middle of one of his stories. “are you eating right? sleeping right? are the priestesses overworking you or something?”_

_Erblu waves him off, gives him a casual smile. celestials don’t need to eat and neither do they need to sleep. and the priestesses are definitely not overworking him. “I’m fine. I’ve just been out a lot. you know, running between the temple and the town takes a lot of energy.”_

_not nearly as much as fighting used to, though. but Erblu knows he can’t fight right now. Elsword looks at him doubtfully, takes a sip of the ice tea the innkeeper brought him. “we’re doing fine here, but it really isn’t the same without you.”_

_“missed my Rein?” Erblu chuckles. Elsword grins._

_“please, we don’t need you babysitting us_ all _the time!” then Elsword stops, a concerned glint entering his eyes. “are you sure you’re okay, Ain? you sure you don’t want to join us again?”_

_Erblu nods. “I’m sure. as a priest, I need to protect the El and the El Lady.”_

_Elsword gives his drink a thoughtful sip. “if you say so. I don’t know, you just seem so… lonely sometimes.”_

_“hm?” Erblu tilts his head innocently. “what you mean?”_

_Elsword shrugs, tries to laugh. “nevermind. anyway, remember that portable oven Ciel made ages ago? apparently Add decided to mess with it and now it’ll only…”_

_Erblu nods, barely hearing Elsword’s words._

_this loneliness. it’s an emotion that rings of the depth of the ocean. it drowns him._

-

one night, it’s different.

Arme is holding him. tightly, firmly. Erblu doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows it’s a dream. Arme doesn’t have enough power to stabilize his form yet. but he feels Arme press against his shoulder, feels fingers dimple into his back. feels Arme tremble against him.

“Arme?”

still, Arme clutches him desperately. so Erblu carefully, gently, brings his arms around him.

“I’m here for you, Arme. I’m still here.”

Arme’s form is fragile, like glass strands woven together. Erblu’s embrace can barely be called one, because he’s afraid Arme may shatter again. there are emotions are filtering out, uncontrolled, unrestrained. helplessness. loneliness. _fear_.

he knows them. he remembers. what it’s like to be light– what it’s like to be alone, what it’s like to barely cling onto the world, to be inexistent. purposeless.

it’s a human feeling, a human fear.

Arme isn’t crying, but Erblu knows it. he is crying himself. “it’s okay, Arme. I’m with you. I am still with you.”

when Erblu wakes up, the sun is filtering in through the lone window of his room. in his arms is the orb of light, pulsing quietly against the sheets, emitting a spell of rest. Erblu curls himself around it and closes his eyes.

-

days pass. little by little, Erblu regains his strength and the world regains its color. the steamed buns start to taste again, so he snacks on them as he treks back into the hills where the temple is nestled. today, the palace gave him a ream of papers to deliver to the temple, a summary of protection measures the kingdom will take regarding the El, and he reads it as he walks.

the light pours into the glade like a shower of the sun, blooming flowers shining with color. the green of the grass is soft emerald, dew beading like pearls upon its blades. he finds the faded light resting against the petal of a large yellow flower, and he approaches, scoops it up within his hands.

a golden light splashes against the stone walls when he returns his room. lights up the glass panes, shimmers red, yellow, blue. the light doesn’t move from his hands as it does usually, pulsing slowly, weakly against his heart, strands of energy rising up from it, unraveling.

he holds it, gently, lets his Rein surround it. he sits in the soft melody, fills the room with the color of his emotions.

-

when Erblu wakes up one morning, he feels a weight resting on his arm. he blinks slowly, opening his eyes to see light gray hair nestled against his cheek. his heart skips, as he wraps his arms tightly around the form, senses a curling warmth from within this body.

“Arme?”

Arme stirs slowly. when he opens his eyes, they’re crystal green, blank– hesitant. Erblu gives him a soft smile and Arme looks away.

“Arme.”

Arme doesn’t answer, closing his eyes to rest his head against Erblu’s shoulder. nestles into his embrace. Erblu raises a hand to the back of Arme’s head, strokes his gray hair gently. there’s unsettled panic in the calm, an intermittent trembling in Arme’s form. he feels the energy surrounding Arme, a pure El. it is nothing like the power of the goddess, nothing like the power that Arme knows.

Arme is uncertain– and afraid.

“it’s okay, Arme,” Erblu whispers, gathering Arme close. Arme lets Erblu hold him, falling limply into his embrace. “I’m here for you.”

-

Arme’s form is more human than celestial. green eyes, gray hair, with a slight blue tint of the heavens. his expression is as carefully blank as it used to be, sometimes sharp, pinched in disapproval.

Arme doesn’t say much, not yet. he’s still searching for his voice, searching for himself, after so long as mere light. but it’s Arme, so that’s fine. so Erblu gives him time.

when Erblu leaves for errands, he lets Arme rest at the shrine near the El. he saves the steamed buns for Arme this time, hops back to the temple with a spring in his step. but when he returns to the garden, parts the curtain of vines, he almost drops his bag in surprise.

Arme’s resting against the tree, circulating the El around him. that is normal. what isn’t is his celestial form, a white form tinged green with El, wings of crystal petals folded behind him. it’s not the white-blue seraph he remembers, not the same white wings. when Arme opens his eyes, those too shine like green diamonds.

_“Erblu.”_ but his voice is the still same. and so is the knit of confusion in his brow. Erblu approaches him, sets his bag down to take Arme’s hands in his.

“sorry, it’s just weird,” Erblu laughs, curls his fingers around cool white hands. “you look like me. kind of.”

Arme gives him a long look, before glancing away. Erblu reaches up to brush at Arme’s white hair, and it glows green too.

_“the El is a strange and unusual power,”_ Arme says.

“but it’s something,” Erblu smiles, then looks down. “I… it’s not the goddess’s power, but… she told me to give you something to hold. this is the only thing I could give you.”

Arme gazes at him, piercing. as usual, he hears the words Erblu doesn’t say. _“I didn’t say it wasn’t acceptable.”_

“but how are you going to fight?” Erblu protests. “you need your creation magic to make your projections. and you need the goddess to use your creation magic. without the goddess, you can’t–”

Arme yanks him down, pulls Erblu into an embrace. Erblu quiets, slowly realizing the droplets of El floating around them. slowly, he returns the embrace, nestling his chin against Arme’s shoulder. solid, comforting.

– this– _this_ is was what he’s been missing.

_“do you feel it?”_ Arme ask simply. Erblu does. the emotions– of gratitude, tenderness– flowing through the air around them. _“this is what you’ve given me. you didn’t give me only power.”_

Erblu closes his eyes, feels the warmth of emotion surrounding him. emotions– ones that are Arme’s.

_“… Erblu, do you understand?”_

“yes, I do,” Erblu sobs, burying his face into Arme’s shoulder. “I’m– I’m glad you’re finally back.”

Arme strokes Erblu’s back, says nothing. doesn’t need to. the emotion that rises up, the emotion that surrounds the both of them– it is happiness.

-

they eat the steamed buns quietly together in the afternoon light of the glade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wrote most of this before the latest story update, so uh. anyway, this was always going to be canon divergence.  
> 
> 
> _some celestial!headcanons:_
> 
> the _El Lady_ is a celestial, as she is a being so intertwined with the goddess that she _is_. she is very similar to Ain, though they have different missions. Ain was sent to restore the El– a one-time mission that ends with his disappearance. the first El Lady was the same, as she was a burst of energy that partially restored the El. the other El Ladies, every one after the first, were tasked to keep the El stable, a long term mission that involved interacting with humans. it required them to be born as human to start.
> 
> a _ball of light_ is a celestial’s natural form. that Erblu– and eventually, Arme– is afraid of being _mere light_ is actually a reaction they have as humans, rather than as celestials. celestials normally do not have a consciousness or emotions. Ain is an exception; he adopted humanity out of necessity. Erblu dislikes being reduced to light while Arme is initially fine with it, but it becomes more unbearable for him as he receives more of Erblu’s El energy and the ability to recognize his emotions.  
> 


	76. 89; executor / wander > apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 89; Lofty Executor / Lofty Wanderer > Apostasia
> 
> Executor can’t find Wander.
> 
> companion to: 70

Wander is playing with his hair. he’s been doing that more often– fixating. the action doesn’t bother him, but the strange energy coiling around Wander’s hand does. unsettles him, puts him on edge. Executor has to stop himself from snapping back constantly, because the last thing he wants to do is to push Wander away.

Wander sinks his fingers into the divine undertones of his hair and Executor flinches. Wander pulls back and Executor reaches up to touch the spot. it’s a strange feeling and he doesn’t like it. he doesn’t want to know why Wander’s consumed by it.

when he turns around, Wander’s kneeling on the grass behind him, hands curled on his lap, staring at the ground. there’s a sadness in his visible eye, an ache in his expression. Executor frowns, makes to get up, before crawling to sit next to Wander. he wraps an arm around the other celestial carefully, feels the faint glow of the goddess in his hand. when Wander reaches for it, the light flickers a little.

Wander is starved of divine power. Executor realized that a long ago. that’s why Wander wants touch him, because the trace of the goddess is ever present on his form. Wander wants the assurance of divine protection. that’s the only logical explanation, Executor thinks, even as Wander leans against his side, closes his eye to rest.

Executor feels something in his throat tighten. what is this emotion? he doesn’t understand. he reaches over with his other arm, secures his hands together. Wander presses even closer to him, lets out a fluttering sigh.

Executor needs to protect Wander– he has to save him.

-

when Wander sleeps, he doesn’t– he wakes in frenzied nightmares. when Wander pulls energy, he can’t– he grasps blindly, futilely for the El. the power of the goddess can no longer heal his wounds, can no longer comfort his form, and his broken skin burns with black darkness.

Executor can do nothing but watch.

Wander’s curled up beside him, his good hand tightening around Executor’s fingers. somehow Wander can still reject it, somehow still gasping, moving, even as the chaos traces across his torso, threads painfully across the voids torn into his form.

Executor hadn’t realized how blindly Wander stumbled behind him until now.

“Executor…?”

“hm?”

Executor can’t look at him now. the frail form huddled at his side, a mirror of the nightmares he’s had of himself. Henir may have claimed his eye, but it has claimed Wander entirely. the glyphs of Henir has spread, across to his good eye. the shadows in his eye consumes it, its light flickering between clear pain and empty fog.

“… stay, Executor,” Wander says, desperate. “stay– with me. don’t abandon me too.”

“I won’t abandon you, Wander,” Executor answers. Wander reaches up, grasps at Executor’s face, his hazy green eyes fixed on him. there’s no emotion in them anymore, though his voice is still the same. his fingers are cold, nearly consumed by the abyss.

“and the goddess,” Executor says, trying not to draw back from the chill. “–hasn’t abandoned you either. you can still return to her.”

Wander smiles and Executor blinks. it’s a human expression with empty eyes. Wander’s touch is cold and his fingers dig into Executor’s hand.

“Executor, I’m sorry.”

“for what?”

Wander doesn’t explain. Executor doesn’t ask further.

-

_“don’t cry,” Executor says. “there’s no use crying.”_

_“–sorry.”_

_the guilty look on Wander’s face makes Executor sigh. “never mind.” he cards his fingers through Wander’s hair, as he tries to straighten them, soothe his shaking. “I’ll protect you. always. even if you don’t always believe in me.”_

_“… no. I still believe in you, Executor.”_

_Wander gives him a small, shy smile, and Executor stills. because even as a celestial, he can still be moved by emotion._

_this emotion. what is it?_

-

Executor can’t find Wander.

he can’t sense him anymore. the tiny light of the goddess Wander still had– it’s gone. maybe Executor is still too weak to discern it. maybe he just can’t sense him past the Dark El running rampant in this place. or maybe Wander has truly–

Executor doesn’t want to think about it. – the knots needling at the pit of his stomach.

Executor floats through the altar of dedication, crystal lance in his hand, his eyes scouring the shadows carefully for the shapes of demons. here at the core, where the piece of El was so corrupted he could barely see through the darkness for its memories, walking is like wading through a pool of black water.

where is he? Wander should have followed him. Wander always follows him.

… why _does_ Wander follow him? Executor never understood.

a sound. he lifts his crystal projection at ready. before he knows it, a flood of demons spill the room, drawn by his celestial magic. Executor lets the energy flicker between his fingers, before launching daggers into their chests. he leaves them to fall, as he pushes forward, following the path they created.

but the closer he gets, the louder the Dark El of this place pulses, spirals. the corruption that seeps through this place seeps into his form. Executor wraps the goddess’s protection around himself to chase it away, but the more he uses his power, the more his exhaustion weighs on him. this human form– it’s annoying, tiresome.

is he becoming weaker?

he needs to find Wander.

Executor hears the unholy screams before the demons crumple behind him. it’s nothingness– or it’s something and Executor’s too tired to feel it. when he turns around, he sees a swirling darkness and a fractured figure hovering above the demon corpses, a mad eye shuttering above him.

it’s a celestial.

it’s Wander.

but Executor can’t sense it, the familiar pulse of Wander’s core. the space where it used to be leaks bits and pieces that the chaos energy eagerly puzzles together, fits into place. Wander falls to the ground limply, his long gray hair unfurling from his messy braid, his bandages unraveling to the floor.

Executor snaps his hand away from himself, projects his spears into the group of demons around Wander. but the chaos swirls around them, unbidden, clusters the demons into a ball, shreds them through with the power of the void.

Wander gazes at him with hollow green eyes, as blue demon blood streaks across the floor. the gap in his chest collects dust like a vacuum. there’s an emptiness of his eyes– a carelessness. an apathy.

he feels nothing like Wander.

“… Executor.”

his voice– it’s not the same either. there’s no ringing uncertainty, no shaking sobs. it’s rough, quiet, eerie. a whisper.

“… you came for me.”

Wander takes a step closer to him. Executor takes a step back. Wander pauses, stares into him with those unnerving eyes.

“… are you afraid of me, Executor?”

“no,” Executor says, instinctively steeling his grip on his lance. the chaos is repulsive, disgusting, traces over the fragments of Wander’s broken core.

but it– is still Wander.

Wander glides close to him, reaches out for his arm. this time, Executor expects it and doesn’t pull away. Wander takes Executor’s hand in both of his, caresses the incision in his hand. Executor can’t look at it, his breath shuddering as the chaos folds into his wound.

… when did he injure himself?

“you should take care of yourself, Executor,” comes that haunted whisper again. “don’t let this world corrupt this pure existence of yours.”

the words are implied. but it isn’t Wander’s fault he ended up like this. it isn’t Wander’s fault Executor could never heal him.

it isn’t Wander’s fault that Henir chose him to make his avatar.

“Wander, I can heal myself.” but Executor can’t pull his hand away. Wander’s grasp is too tight. “this form was created for combat, so of course, I–”

“but why? you’re only getting hurt.”

there’s a dullness in those eyes, but it gleams with familiarity, nostalgia. Wander says this constantly, but it’s different now– it isn’t a plea. Wander tilts his head, in askance, comes closer. Executor stays still as Wander curls his arms around him, folds layers upon layers of chaos around him, rests his chin against Executor’s shoulder. the tiredness creeps onto his form and the chaos snarls against his skin.

it’s chilling, both the chaos and the realization– that Wander controls it now. there is no fear, no terror. he isn’t a puppet anymore, struggling against his master. he’s the ruler of the abyss himself.

– and a broken celestial. a celestial without a purpose, without a mission. Executor feels an emotion rise within him and he lowers his head.

“… Wander. I– I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Executor says. “I wasn’t– strong enough to stop your chaos. but I _will_ save you. even if I have to go to the abyss myself and tell that accursed god to let you _go_.”

“… you don’t have to, Executor.” and Wander cups his face with a cold palm, traces a tear from his cheek. Executor feels the threads of darkness linger on his skin, and the tenderness, too. “it’s fine. see? it doesn’t hurt anymore. it’s made me stronger.”

“but it’s–”

it’s _Apostasia_. this isn’t a celestial’s fate. – but he can’t say it. to say it is to reject Wander and what he’s become. and Executor _can’t_. those fingers curl around the back of his neck, and Wander leans in, nudges his nose against Executor’s ear.

“Executor.” his voice chills as much as his words do. “isn’t this better than what I used to be?”

no, it isn’t– it’s _not_.

“I understand. you still believe the goddess can help me,” Wander says, even though Executor said nothing. “but I… don’t.”

_“Executor, I’m sorry.”_

Executor doesn’t understand why there are tears in his eyes.

“don’t cry,” Wander says, taking his hand with a deceptive gentleness. it’s a shallow comfort, his calm and his kindness. “you don’t understand yet, but you will. you don’t need to protect me anymore. I’ll protect you instead.”

Wander takes him into his arms and Executor doesn’t resist– can’t. this strength exceeds the goddess’s– the power of the void consumes and controls. this close, Executor can feel the gap in Wander’s chest, the shattered nothingness where his core used to be. when Executor reaches for it, the space pulses and reforms into a shining sphere, rages with a silent chaos.

Executor drops his hand and looks away.

he’ll save Wander. even if Wander doesn’t want be saved.


	77. 90; executor / anpassen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 90; Lofty Executor / Lofty Anpassen
> 
> Executor attempts something human. Anpassen has no idea why he chose _this_ of all things to do.

Executor is staring at him, lips flattened into a thin line of disapproval. if they were in any other position, it could’ve passed off as something normal. but it’s not.

Anpassen could chalk it up to Executor being Executor. but the last thing he expected from the fiercely stubborn celestial was for him to burst in through the window and unceremoniously drop himself onto Anpassen’s lap.

“... my legs are numb, Executor,” Anpassen whines. “how long are you planning to sit on me?”

“when I figure it out,” Executor says, not explaining at all what ‘it’ is. his brows are furrowed, clearly in thought, and his hands curl restlessly around Anpassen’s shoulders. Anpassen could try to guess, but Executor would probably blow off his suggestions, if not outright deny them.

but at least Executor is kind of cute like this.

“so...” Anpassen says again. Executor barely acknowledges him, still staring down at where he’s literally sitting on Anpassen. Executor shifts a little as Anpassen curls his arms around Executor’s waist. “what prompted this?”

“humans.” Executor pauses. “they have strange customs.”

Anpassen considers it. did Executor see humans do something like this? it’s not too far-fetched. even though he’s about as human as Anpassen is, Executor is much more naive and uninitiated in the ways of the human than Anpassen is.

so Anpassen tries, “... so you saw someone do this and you wanted to try it yourself?”

Executor doesn’t answer. that’s a yes. that’s fine. Executor can have all the time in the world to figure this out. the sensation of pins and needles in his legs aside, it feels nice to have Executor so close to him.

“why is your face red?”

Anpassen blinks. Executor’s looking up at him now, crystal green eyes flashing with judgment. Anpassen opens his mouth to say something when Executor touches his cheek gently.

“and why are you so warm?”

“because--” Anpassen tries to remember how Elsword described it. he can’t see himself, but from how Executor described him and the pounding in his ears, he guesses it’s probably... “I’m uh, flustered?”

Executor deadpans him. “why are you flustered? did you make a mistake?”

Anpassen stares at him. is… is this how Executor defines ‘flustered’? what did Executor’s Elsword teach him anyway?

“Executor, let me explain-- first, get off me--”

“no,” Executor says, bafflingly. he places his palm flat against Anpassen’s cheek and it takes all of Anpassen’s self-control not to squeak at his touch. “this… this seems right.”

“what are you--”

Executor leans in, presses his lips clumsily against Anpassen’s. his lips are soft, a bit cool, and it-- feels nice. Executor pushes at his lips shyly, curiously, and Anpassen parts his mouth instinctively, feels his head spin.

he can’t breathe. he-- he wants to hold onto this feeling.

when Executor pulls away, Anpassen opens his eyes, sees the blank green eyes and a thoughtful frown on Executor’s face.

Executor mumbles hesitantly, “... I… think that was right?”

Anpassen doesn’t answer, _can’t_. not when Executor literally just--

Executor climbs off of him and moves to sit on the bed, starts to straighten out the wrinkles in his coat. Anpassen only gazes blankly at the wall, as feeling slowly returns to his legs.

“... Executor.”

Executor blinks innocently. “hm?”

“why did you...?”

Executor seems barely fazed, bizarrely enough. “that’s how humans say thank you, right?”

“what?” Anpassen closes his mouth and opens it again. he tries, “no-- it’s-- to start with-- we’re celestials, not-- who told you-- why-- what are you thank--”

“Anpassen,” Executor interrupts him, frowning. “if you don’t like it, I won’t do it next time--”

“no, wait--” Anpassen throws his arms around Executor when it looks like he’s about to stand. Executor stiffens when Anpassen tugs him close, buries his face into Executor’s neck.

“what are you doing, Anpassen?”

crying, probably. but he’s not ‘sad.’ definitely not. Anpassen sniffs into Executor’s shoulder, before he lifts his head to peer at Executor. the other celestial is glancing away slightly, arms still crossed stubbornly. but there’s a flush of emotion on Executor’s cheeks. embarrassment.

… so Executor is embarrassed by a hug and not a-- a--

“Anpassen, you’re suffocating me.”

Anpassen loosens his grip, but doesn’t let go. he doesn’t know why he’s laughing, but everything Executor says and does always fills him with pure joy.

“don’t…” Anpassen finally says, trying to catch his breath. “don’t do that to anyone else. just-- me.”

“of course not,” Executor says flatly. “what do you take me for, an idiot? I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t comfortable around you.”

“so why did you…?”

Executor turns away. eventually, he stutters out, “I… I wanted to thank you. for… being with me.”

Anpassen smiles widely. it’s rare to see Executor so sincere and honest about his feelings. Anpassen nuzzles into Executor affectionately, feels the power of his emotions rise and wrap around them both.

Executor notices. “... are you… um, ‘happy’?”

“yes,” Anpassen sparkles gently. “I am.”

Executor watches him carefully, before he sighs, tucks himself into Anpassen’s arms. “... good.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ain!headcanons (because where else am I going to put this)_ :
> 
> can carry the other Ains: Executor, Arme, Apos  
> can’t: Anpassen, Erblu, Wander
> 
> comes in through the window: Executor, Apos  
> uses the door like a civilized celestial: Arme, Anpassen  
> has to be dragged into the house by force: Wander  
> does whatever he wants: Erblu  
> 


	78. 91; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 91; Arme Thaumaturgy, Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Arme is small, with cat ears. sorry.

Arme is taking it surprisingly well.

“as celestials, it is important to adapt to whatever circumstances we may face.”

Erblu watches Arme with a note of amusement, crouched to Arme’s current eye level. before him, Arme is gazing at the ground thoughtfully, holding a tiny crystal dagger in his hand. but his form is smaller, child-like, because his current power doesn’t allow him to render anything more, dampened by this strange curse.

Erblu doesn’t really mind. after all, if Arme wasn’t stuck like this, he would have left the house right after they returned from their mission. and Erblu enjoys Arme’s company.

even as a small bundle of righteous energy.

Arme thins his lips, though it looks more like a petulant pout than his usual frown of displeasure.

“have you been listening, Erblu?”

Erblu places his hand onto Arme’s head of blue hair, unearths the folded cat ears Arme hid under his strands. light blue too, tinged with the energy of the goddess. and the source of all his troubles, evidence of this curse. Erblu unfolds them carefully, ruffles his hair a tad, and the ears twitch against his fingers. Arme winks an eye closed and tries to catch Erblu’s hand in both of his.

“you’re really cute like this,” Erblu says, chuckling.

“Erblu, I don’t need this right now,” Arme scolds, trying to bat his hand away. “I need to figure out how to lift this curse–”

Erblu tucks his hand around Arme’s stomach, and stands, lifting Arme’s tiny form from the ground. Arme’s cat tail curls around his wrist, startled. “Erblu!”

“you know what I think you need? a cat nap.”

“Erblu,” Arme hisses, much like a cat, and struggles a little in Erblu’s grasp. Erblu brings him against his chest, pets the back of his head gently. eventually Arme sighs and plants his face against Erblu’s shoulder.

“… you are enjoying this,” Arme says quietly, when he notices the Eids of Rein floating in the air.

Erblu hums an affirmation. “it’s not everyday you’re mini-sized.”

“fortunately,” Arme says bluntly. then, “… put me down, Erblu.”

Erblu pouts, but he sets Arme obediently onto the bed. Arme sits, dangling his legs over the side, trying to collect his bearings. there’s a glassy look in his blue eyes and a sparkle of creation magic in his right hand, so much dimmer than it normally is. Erblu sits beside him, takes one of Arme’s small hands in his own, tickles through Arme’s hair with his other.

“feeling alright, Arme?”

“… it’s… uncomfortable,” Arme finally admits. “can’t create sizable projections. can’t sustain my normal form. … can’t even enter my celestial form.”

Erblu touches his waving tail and Arme whips it away, moves it protectively in front of him. his fingers nestle firmly into the fur of his tail, before Arme pulls himself into a small ball, hiding his face in his knees. trembles a little.

Erblu frowns. perhaps, Arme isn’t doing so well after all.

“Arme, here.”

Erblu gathers Arme into a hug and lays them both onto the bed, wrapping his melody around Arme like a gentle blanket. Erblu brings a hand up to stroke the fluffy shell of Arme’s ears, watches the small, barely suppressed shakes wrack Arme’s tiny form. slowly, Arme eases into his embrace.

“maybe it’ll wear off,” Erblu says. “or maybe you just need enough rest.”

Arme doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t pull away, curling his fingers into Erblu’s sleeve. Erblu tucks Arme’s head under his chin securely, lets Arme nestle into his chest.

“whatever the case is, I’ll protect you until then.”


	79. 92; arme / erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 92; Arme Thaumaturgy, Erbluhen Emotion, Apostasia
> 
> Apos finally faces the goddess.

a feeling crawls up his throat, leaves its slithering chill upon his skin. it’s been long since he’s felt it, even longer since he’s discerned it, but it seizes his core in possession.

the name of this emotion dies before it reaches him. had it been so hard to recall? it is something he knows, but where his emotions usually prick like thorns, this oozes a sludge he can’t destroy.

there’s a hollowness in his core, a gap in his memories. a recollection when he sees soft blue light and an echo when he sees fluttering butterflies.

he is missing something.

when he finally comes to Ruben, the source of all things, the shrine is empty but for the glowing shard of El. the wind courses through the valley and it tugs at his hair, like careful touches. the dewy overcast too is familiar, nostalgic, stays his hand when he brings out his scythe.

he remembers, now. how could he have forgotten? to destroy the El is to destroy what remains of what he still cares for.

the words are at the tip of his tongue. he remembers the soothing melody that embraces, he remembers cool serenity that calms, steadies.

he cannot remember their names.

he knows they are gone. he is the only, the last, and the end. the edges of his form are fraying; bits of himself dissipate into dust. he no longer has any reason to exist.

he collapses to the ground, feels the warmth of the earth below him, the mist of the morning air hang above him.

_“you only have to forgive yourself.”_

_“you are her creation. of course the goddess will welcome you back.”_

the goddess… she has long forgotten him.

if the goddess wanted to reach him, wouldn’t she have done so already?

_“Apos, do you think you handle the left flank for me? I told Elsword and Arme I could do it, but–”_

_why should he? what the El Search Party does is none of his concern. but Erblu’s smile is strained, weary, and there’s a viscous red liquid staining his stomach. when Apos reaches for it, Erblu draws back. Apos pulls his hand away._

is this… a memory?

_“I’ll– don’t worry about it– I’ll get Arme to heal it, because–” Erblu doesn’t finish his sentence, as he snaps a Mut Requiem into the shadow monsters approaching them upon the resiam stone. Apos understands. “anyway, I– please, Apos. please.”_

_Erblu takes his hands firmly and then lets go. but when Erblu falters, Apos reaches out again, pulling Erblu tightly against him. a darkness forms into his left hand and Apos feels the shape heavy in his soul, before he turns the scythe to gleam in the cold morning rays._

_he will protect Erblu– he will always–_

when Apos opens his eyes, there’s nothing in his arms, nothing in his hand, nothing in his heart.

it’s only the quiet peace of the meadow of Ruben, only traces of shadow flashing across the shard of El. only motes of dust suspended in the sun’s vigil.

_“forgive yourself, Apos.”_

_it’s coming from Arme, but it’s different this time. Arme’s resting against the side of the broken resiam, Erblu laying on his lap. he’s stroking through Erblu’s hair, as his other hand glows a calming blue light, pressed against the wound on Erblu’s stomach._

_they’re together, both the celestials of the goddess. Apos stands, further away, because he is not. Erblu doesn’t stir from his sleep, but he struggles to breathe with that human body of his. Apos looks away._

_“… Apos.”_

Ainchase.

_“thank you.”_

_Apos looks up, at Arme. there’s no emotion in those celestial eyes, but they are focused wholly on him. the power in Arme’s hand flickers out, and Erblu’s breath flutters, to rest. Arme stretches out his hand to Apos, in invitation._

_“come here, Apos.”_

_he does, kneels quietly in front of Arme. Arme reaches out to touch his head and Apos feels the chill of all-compassing power. the comfort he always yearns for._

_Arme says, as he always does, vaguely, “have you forgiven yourself?”_

_“… the goddess is irrelevant–”_

_Arme touches his fingers against Apos’s cheek and Apos stills, as Arme trace the broken crevices in his face, tickles him with healing. “Apos. Erblu doesn’t fault you.”_

_Apos can’t read the emotion in Arme’s eyes. but it isn’t nothing, isn’t indifference– it is an emotion._

_“and neither do I. I never did.”_

Ainchase, come here.

the wind tugs at his torn clothes, but they too are fading into ether. something holds him, pulls him up, and he almost lets it.

it’s an illusion, a deception. it’s a comfort that no longer exists. it’s a solace he no longer deserves.

_“Apos? Apos, come here.”_

_Apos raises his head, sees Erblu gesturing to him, soft green eyes tired. when Apos comes close, Erblu pulls his crumbling darkness into an embrace, and holds him, as he does, too tightly. Erblu’s smiling, at least Apos thinks so, because he can feel Erblu’s heart jump against his core, in the way that soothes his soul._

_“I won’t disappear yet, Apos,” Erblu says, hearing the thoughts he doesn’t say aloud. “not until our mission is complete.”_

_he wants to hold onto this emotion, this existence, he wants to believe Erblu’s words. but he cannot deny the truth. “… I’m not like you and Arme. I don’t have a mission anymore.”_

_Erblu quiets, pauses in his melody._

_“… then Apos, I’ll– make sure you’re not alone. when I– when we–”_

he feels something moist roll down his cheeks and the breeze brush it away, tender, kind.

_“Apos, I won’t leave you alone–”_

if the goddess still hears him–

could she take these memories away?

_“Ainchase. will you return to me?”_

the voice calls out to him. it’s not a voice he recognizes. it’s a voice he hasn’t heard for a long time. he’s hearing things, isn’t he? the goddess doesn’t exist.

_“come, my dear creation. do you hear me? … I am sorry.”_

a hallucination. a wish. a dream.

but dreams are not reality.

if the goddess was truly sorry… she would return them back to him.

-

something’s rubbing at his face, firmly pushing at his left eye. when he opens his eye, he sees blue eyes staring down at him, sharp. Apos catches Arme’s hand in his bandaged one, presses a sleepy kiss onto Arme’s palm, but Arme only frowns even more.

“we need to find medicine for that, Apos.”

it doesn’t hurt, so it’s fine. even though it burns occasionally like a lingering phantom. Apos sits up in bed, lets the blankets bunch around his waist, and leans over to wrap his arms around Arme. he buries his face into soft gray hair, breathes in the forest in those strands, and Arme sighs, lowers his hand from Apos’s face.

“I don’t think it’s nothing, Apos…” Arme mutters, refusing to be comforted. “I don’t trust it to heal on its own.”

Apos hums, ignores him. Arme worries too much. Apos doesn’t think about it, the scars on his left eye or the wounds burned into his arms. he would suffer it for this peace.

“are you still bothering Apos, Arme? let him sleep. breakfast is getting cold.”

Apos opens his eyes to see Erblu peeking into the bedroom. his hair is messy as usual, unkempt, his smile kind, gentle. he flutters over, leans over to press a kiss on Apos’s forehead.

“oh, good morning, Apos.”

when Erblu tries to pull away, Apos grabs his apron. Erblu gives him a smile and it takes a few moments for Apos to get his words out.

“… I dreamed I was alone.”

Erblu blinks, but Apos doesn’t let go. Erblu sits beside him on the bed, tucks his arms around his waist. “it’s just a bad dream, Apos. we’re with you now. we aren’t going to leave you alone, right, Arme?”

Arme frowns, still in thought, and Erblu reaches over, tickles his fingers against Arme’s stomach. Arme flinches away, trying to extract himself from Apos’s grip and failing. eventually, he settles down reluctantly, reaches up to cup Apos’s cheek, traces the scarring over his left eye.

“Arme?” Erblu prompts with a smile.

“we’ll figure something out. I heard Hamel’s waters have unusual healing properties–”

“Arme,” Erblu stops him gently. “I wasn’t talking about his eye.”

Arme says nothing for awhile and Apos gazes down, loosens his grip slightly, moves to pull away. suddenly, Arme wraps his arms around him, tucks Apos under his chin.

“… I promised I would take care of you,” Arme says. Apos blinks, but Arme has always been this way. “and so I will.”

“do you understand, Apos? Arme’s being vague as usual,” Erblu says, picking up on Apos’s confusion. he leans in, rubs his cheek gently against Apos’s. “you know, the feeling where you need to treasure and protect the things that are precious to you? that’s what Arme’s talking about.”

Arme sighs. “that is not what I’m talking about.”

Erblu sparkles anyway. “it’s pretty close though, right?”

Apos doesn’t understand. but he doesn’t want to think about that dream anymore. not when he can feel his heart beat loudly in his body. not when he finally feels alive.

not when he finally feels loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _a different restoration!au (with apos):_
> 
> when the El is finally restored, Arme and Erblu return to the goddess, their mission complete. Apos does not. but Apos is still a celestial of the goddess, still one of her creations. because Apos can no longer hear her directly, she tries to reach him a different way: through the memories Apos had with Arme and Erblu, memories that were wiped away when they disappeared.
> 
> in this way, the goddess tries to prove her existence to him.
> 
> she gives them a chance at a human existence together. Erblu, because he’s developed his own humanity. Arme, because he’s proved himself to be more than a mere celestial. and Apos, because it is the only way she could show him her grace.
> 
> Apos still doubts her existence. but if he still believes in and trusts Erblu and Arme, it is essentially the same.
> 
> so they stay together, as humans. they have lost their memories from their time as celestials. they travel across Elrios to find a way to heal Apos’s wounds, left when the goddess purged the chaos from his form. it’s mostly Arme’s doing, since he insists on having something to do, but Apos himself is content. because he wants nothing else but for Arme and Erblu to stay with him.
> 
> mostly this means Erblu tries to stop Arme from running off on his own. Arme still manages it sometimes, though.  
> 


	80. 93; erblu, anpassen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 93; Erbluhen Emotion, Lofty Anpassen
> 
> Anpassen meets _himself_ from the future. Erblu teaches him the power of emotions.
> 
> _companion to_ : 87

“I trust him to do what he believes is right.”

Anpassen frowns. it doesn’t answer his question, but Erblu’s smile is affecting. the tiny action silences him, makes him feel warm, tingly. Erblu’s entire existence makes his head fuzzy and his core pulse too fast in this human form. so Anpassen brings a hand to his chest, tries to figure out what it is.

“it feels nice, doesn’t it?” Erblu asks, a laugh in his voice.

Anpassen knits his brow, folds his fingers against his chest. “the power of the El, right?”

“no,” Erblu corrects gently. “emotions. human emotions.”

Anpassen understands, a little. Erblu is _himself_ – he’s embraced wholeheartedly the humanity Anpassen has just barely learned to acknowledge. but Anpassen knows the warmth of emotions and he understands the unyielding desire to have it. so it makes sense that Erblu _does_.

what he doesn’t understand is– Arme. Arme, who was Executor, who looks at him with impassive, indifferent blue eyes that are so different from Executor’s fiery green. but Arme _is_ Executor. and it’s strange– that Arme feels more like the goddess’s calm than Executor’s righteous fury.

Erblu catches him staring, head tilted thoughtfully, and pulls at his hand for his attention. Anpassen almost forgot he was holding it. “come, let me explain. – Anpassen.”

Erblu pulls him out from under the canopy of the forest into the mid-morning sunlight. together, they walk through the clearing, listen to birds and butterflies fluttering alive around them, watch the stalks of morning glories rustle gently in the breeze.

“emotions are the basis of your power,” Erblu starts, opens out his left arm. his fingers trace against the wind, before an Eid lights up in his hand, glows green and then a soft yellow. “you command an emotion and it will follow.”

Erblu lays the Rein Eid into Anpassen’s hand and it flickers as Anpassen tries to pull it into his own cycle.

“ _Rein_ is your charity, your wish to heal and soothe all wounds.”

Erblu covers the Eid with his hand, and it flashes a somber blue. it steadies the more Anpassen holds it, because it is the Eid that he calls when he wants to be comforted. because it feels like Executor. and it– he notices now– feels like Arme, too.

“ _Wille_ is your conviction, your determination, your devotion.”

with a snap of Erblu’s fingers, the Eid flickers into a red light. Anpassen almost drops it, but Erblu steadies his wrist.

“ _Mut_ is your courage, marks a desire to overcome.” and Erblu smiles gently. “and it’s the hardest for you right now, isn’t it?”

Anpassen doesn’t say, but he knows he doesn’t have to. he meets Erblu’s eyes, hopes Erblu doesn’t notice the uncertainty within him. but he does. Erblu closes his hand over the Eid and it dissipates. without another word, Erblu gathers him into an embrace, lets a blanket of Rein fall around them. Anpassen stiffens, before he finally relaxes, lets his anxiousness seep away.

“it will take a lot of time and a lot of effort to master, but it will be worth it in the end,” Erblu says. “to be able to share these emotions, to be able to feel as humans do. it’s hard to control sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“… – Erblu,” Anpassen says. “I still don’t understand. _why_ is it so hard?”

Erblu pulls away, smiles brightly.

“because emotions make no sense. to us, they are irrational, inexplicable. when I become angry, when I become sad, when I become anxious…” Erblu’s expression fades a little. “emotions are powerful. and sometimes it overpowers me.”

Anpassen blinks, but the smile on Erblu’s face remains, mysterious. he doesn’t understand. “… then why– why did you do it? why didn’t you just keep using the goddess’s power?”

Erblu doesn’t answer. but Anpassen doesn’t need him to. he already knows. it’s because this power comforts him, gives him strength, resolve. even though this power– moves him farther and farther away from the goddess.

is this really something he should be doing? are emotions something a celestial of the goddess should have?

“… you asked me earlier why Arme is this way,” Erblu starts. there’s something in his expression, something Anpassen doesn’t understand. “– why he decided to abandon his humanity. it’s because– he chose to. in the same way, I chose this. but you’re right. I really– do miss seeing him express emotions.”

“… but,” and Anpassen fumbles a little, but takes Erblu by his hands, much like how Erblu did so earlier. “– if Arme is Executor and he’s still the same person, then I think, he still really cares for you.”

Erblu blinks, before his gaze softens and he brings Anpassen into another hug. laughs. “is this what they call, believing in yourself?”

Anpassen tucks his face shyly into his shoulder, feels his face warming up.

“I’ll keep trying, I’ll never stop trying. we will both keep trying. because Arme– Executor– deserve this from us. please, Anpassen, before it’s too late, teach Executor how to smile.”

Anpassen nods. “I– I will.”

Erblu hugs him tightly one more time before pulling away. starts to sing, engrave the words of the heavens into the air, infuse the surrounding forest with sparkling power. Erblu’s celestial mantle unfolds into petal-like wings, as Anpassen watches, feels a strange power rises up within him.

“here, this is what I wanted to teach you,” Erblu says with a smile, and pulls Anpassen up, into the air. Anpassen lets the glyphs of his own wings unfurl behind him and follows, crystal petals shimmering in the warm morning glow. lets the power of the El flow through him.

“sing with me, Anpassen, let your emotions bloom!”

_“could I ask you a question?”_

_Erblu stops, turns to gaze at him curiously. “I don’t mind, but I can’t say too much. timelines and all that.”_

_Anpassen wonders if he should be so curious in the first place. “um, you know– Arme. is it okay– for you– for him to be like this?”_

_Anpassen could have been a little more descriptive, but Erblu understands. “… of course. because I love him.”_

_Anpassen blinks and Erblu doesn’t explain._

_“and he is still the same Arme I know.”_


	81. 94; (angel!au) arme / apos (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 94; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapons technology company. Apos is his bodyguard. Apos doesn’t really know why, but if it means he gets to spend all his time with Arme, Apos won’t complain.) Arme isn’t in the habit of talking about himself.
> 
>  _related_ : (please read first) [48](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/158354274395/48) | [65](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159679304884/65-12) / [66](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159754808691/66-22)

Apos drifts awake in the soft afternoon light. the sunlight filters in through the large window in Arme’s office, sets the plush carpet aglow. there’s a gentle hum of forest rain pattering from the speakers of Arme’s computer, the occasional shifting of papers, the soft buzz of a phone. Apos has his own tucked in his pant pocket, with only three numbers in his phonebook and on speed dial– Arme, the company main phone, and Vanessa. Apos has never had to use it.

Apos extends his legs out slightly from the blankets that cover him, kicking lightly into Arme’s leg. he feels careful fingers rub the hard callouses of his bare foot, before they slip it back under the blankets. shuffling papers, scratches of pencil. Arme’s working, as usual. Apos sits up slowly, leans in to rest his chin on Arme’s shoulder. the blanket on his shoulders slides off a little, as Apos blinks slowly to restore his vision.

Arme places a hand against Apos’s head gently, before turning to work. on the schematics in front of him are specifications for a new weapon. a thicker blade, made of solid glass. Arme prefers thinner blades, he knows, so it’s probably a custom request.

not that Apos minds. he’ll use anything Arme gives him. but the weapons Arme design are especially satisfying to use. light in his grip, made of a special glass with tactile feel. Hanna calls it _angel’s glass_ , though Arme himself never talks about it.

Arme isn’t in the habit of talking about himself. Apos isn’t in the habit of asking questions.

Apos tucks his arms around Arme’s waist, watches as he works. slowly, his eyelids droop again. during the serenity of the afternoon is the only time he can rest. when Arme has no meetings, when no one is allowed into the room. when Arme lets Apos take off his shoes and his socks, let Apos hides his head underneath his light green blanket. when Arme puts on the sound of rain, after he realized Apos falls asleep better to it.

in this space that Arme has created for him, Apos feels protected. even though Apos is supposed to protect Arme instead.

this life, this peace, it is Arme who gave it to him.

at some point, the sound of ruffling sheets stop completely and Apos lifts his eyes quizzically. the sheets have been bundled up, rolled, and placed to the side of the tabletop. Arme lets out a sigh, leans into him, and Apos tightens his grasp around him, nudges his lips against Arme’s ear. Arme lifts a hand up to pet his hair and Apos leans into his touch, slowly wrapping his whole body around Arme.

drifts again.

eventually, Arme mutters quietly. “Hanna called us down. do you need a few more minutes?”

yes. Apos tightens his grasp briefly. he doesn’t want to move yet.

“a few more minutes then.”

-

Apos doesn’t know much about them, these _angel_ weapons. they gleam like crystal, but they don’t shatter. a material with a hardness resembling diamond, but also melt on contact with warm liquid. any living thing it touches is poisoned to suffocate.

he only knows that this is what _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is famous for.

Apos picks up the blade from the cloth and it is light in the palm of his hands. shifts his fingers to cradle the flat of the blade and then again, to hold the blunt end that is the handle. presses his finger against its edge, tests its sharpness against his skin.

“do you like it?” Apos blinks when Hanna smiles at him, takes off her heavy mitts. “Arme designed these for you. I think he noticed you’re not the type to throw knives.”

from the start, Apos used same knives as Arme. until now, they were sufficient for his needs. but this one though feels more solid, more substantial. much like the blades he used to use.

“I have to mention that Arme is the strange one here,” Hanna laughs, and Apos looks up at her curiously. “I’ve been a smith for a long time and I’ve never met another person who loves throwing knives as much as Arme does.”

and Arme is good at it. Apos doubts it’s effective at killing, but for Arme’s purposes, it’s enough. Arme’s talents are never just for show.

“you can keep that one for now, to replace your last one,” and Apos stiffens. Hanna waves her hand dismissively. “don’t worry about it. material’s aplenty. you know, Arme used to break his knives all the time.”

Apos only nods. “… thank you.”

Hanna swells with pride, before starting to rummage in a nearby toolbox. “I’ll be making a few more for you to test in the next few days. when you have the time, you can come down here to try them out. see what fits you the best. – aha, here we are.”

she pushes a leather case into his hands, and he folds his fingers around it. it takes him a moment to realize he’s supposed to put the blade inside. Hanna ends up taking the blade away, just barely touching his hand, and tucks it into the case. when she hands it back to him, she gives him a calm smile.

“take care of him, Apos,” Hanna says, as Apos curls his fingers around the sheathed blade. “Arme’s the type who insists on carrying the world upon his shoulders. cares too much about others, cares too little about himself. I’m just happy he finally has you.”

“… I…” Apos starts softly, before looking down at the floor. “I will protect him. it’s… my job.”

Hanna chuckles. “of course. but you aren’t only his–”

she’s cut off when the door slams open, bounces loudly against the wall.

“sorry, Hanna.”

Apos blinks, but Hanna is still smiling, unfazed, when Arme steps in, an annoyed tick in his brow. Apos’s gaze drifts to the open door, where Helen’s offering him a mysterious smile, before swinging the door closed. Arme beelines to Apos, and without a word, Apos hands the knife over to him.

Arme’s pulling out the blade to examine it when Hanna asks, “so what was that about?”

“nothing important,” Arme replies bluntly. “the government wanted to see me.”

there’s a fondness in Hanna’s smile that Apos doesn’t miss. “you can’t really avoid them forever, dear.”

Arme doesn’t answer. he presses his finger lightly against the edge of the blade, before he puts it away, returns it to Apos. he turns to Hanna to say, “we’ll run it through the usual testing, but it seems per specifications. good work, Hanna.”

“thank you,” Hanna says, sparkling softly. “I’ve tested it a little myself, but I couldn’t manage to break it. you really have gotten better at design.”

Arme doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say anything. he just pinches the sleeve of his suit, fiddles with it. Apos notices it now, these tiny tics when Arme’s not sure how to react.

it happens most often around Hanna, Vanessa, and the other executives of _Arme Thaumaturgy_. around them, Arme seems more like their son, rather than the president of a company that employs them. perhaps, it’s because they’ve known Arme longer. perhaps, it’s because they know him more.

Hanna pats Arme on the shoulder. “come on, dear. that’s a compliment. if your sister could see you now, I think she’d be proud.”

Arme doesn’t react to this immediately either, only casts his gaze to the ground. there’s a cloud in his blue eyes, an unrecognizable emotion. Apos reaches out to touch Arme’s hand, and Arme blinks, softens his gaze.

Hanna fills the silence with a small chuckle. “oh, sorry, Apos. Arme doesn’t tell you much about himself, does he?”

Apos shakes his head and Hanna smiles.

“Arme’s sister, Harnier– she created the original formula for _angel’s glass_. Arme rediscovered it when he came across her old papers and asked me to duplicate it. if he hadn’t, he’d still be breaking knives right and left. ah, was it Artea who requested to meet with you again?”

Arme’s voice is quiet. “yes.”

“she’s quite the persistent one. you know, she was one of your sister’s closest friends. always bringing her lunch, always looking out for her.”

“are you suggesting that I speak to her?” Arme asks, but Hanna isn’t afraid of his challenge. instead, she reaches up, places her hand on Arme’s light blue hair. ruffles it. Apos watches as Arme simply accept it.

“you should talk to more people, dear. _socialize_. Artea is kind. it’ll be good practice.”

anyone else, and Arme would have bristled and answered their insolence with his blade. instead, Arme’s gaze skates away from Hanna’s gentle one, before he demures, reluctantly.

“… fine.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **angel!au** (one day this au title will make sense):
> 
>  _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of a weapons technology company of the same name. literally _weapon maker_. he’s curiously adept at handling weapons and notoriously awful at interacting with people. he’s the lead designer for all of the products his company manufactures. he’s much younger than he appears; his age is most obvious around his trusted aides. no one knows much about him; the few who do knew him as the  _Executor_.
> 
>  _Apos_ was formerly _Apostasia_ , an agent contracted with the mysterious organization, _Henir_. but he no longer recognizes that name. Apos met Arme after his last mission a year ago; since then, he has stayed by Arme’s side. Apos takes his job seriously, even though Arme is perfectly capable of protecting himself. to everyone that is not Arme, his presence is baffling, almost terrifying. but Arme seems more relaxed when Apos is around.
> 
>  _Hanna_ is _Thaumaturgy’s_ lead in product manufacturing. originally a smith by trade, she still finds joy in forging weapons from scratch, so she makes many of the prototypes herself. she’s older than she seems, and she treats Arme and Apos like her sons.
> 
>  _Harnier_ is Arme’s sister. Arme doesn’t talk about her much, but Hanna does occasionally. they used to work together.


	82. 95; (angel!au) arme / apos (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 95; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapons technology company. Apos is his bodyguard. Arme doesn’t really need one, as he’s fully capable of protecting himself; after all, he used to be one himself.) Arme and Apos visit the Halls of Velder.
> 
> _related_ : (please read first) [48](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/158354274395/48) | [65](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159679304884/65-12) / [66](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159754808691/66-22) | part one: [94](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163214593556/94-12)

Apos remembers it well enough. the scuttling mass of frantic aides rushing in and out of ancient doors, a scattering of reporters hunting for the nearest official to interview and monopolize. the looks they give him now don’t linger anymore; the residents of these halls are transient, forgetful. the diplomatic smiles, the form-fitted black suits, the shuffling of people with places to be-- all at home in this cloistered world, closed to the rest of kingdom by tall oak doors.

he remembers, too, the moment he destroyed it.

the bright light boring down upon him, the glass cutting into his bare feet. there was blood, a lot of it, and screaming, too much of it. Apos learned to wait for the quiet, lonely moments.

but the air still suffocates. Arme fixed his tie three times today already, so Apos can’t loosen it yet. Apos shifts idly on his feet, curls his fingers to touch the crystal blade hidden up his sleeve. it’s a solid comfort, a muffled coolness. Apos wants to take his gloves off already, but for once, Arme insisted it stays.

so Apos fiddles with his gloves, waits for Arme to finish talking to the security officer.

though Arme’s not talking so much as glaring daggers at her. he’s annoyed, clearly, arms crossed, lips thinned, tapping his finger restlessly against his arm. Arme carries a standard steel knife on him for emergencies and that’s most likely what the security machine discovered. angel knives are virtually undetectable, so it couldn’t have been any of the five Arme always carries.

“I’m really sorry, sir.” the officer tries to seem apologetic, shifting nervously under Arme’s disparaging gaze. but she stands her ground. “protocol doesn’t allow exceptions.”

“I was told nothing about this protocol.”

“I’m not sure who your appointment is with, sir,” the officer repeats. her voice is pitched high, annoyingly, so Apos turns away quietly, curls his fingers absently. “I assure you everyone has to go through this procedure.”

Arme says, tone icy, “no one else was pulled away like this.”

“you set off the machine! which means you might have something suspicious on you, alright? no exceptions.” Arme’s frown deepens. the officer gestures toward him with her gloved hands. “it’ll be quick, just to make sure you really have nothing.”

Arme lowers his eyes away from her face, quickly scans the rest of her body. Apos knows this look. Arme’s assessing his target’s strengths, weakness, calculating just how quickly he can disable her. how quickly he can take her down.

Arme could subdue her bare-handed, but Apos won’t underestimate her either.

when the officer touches his shoulder, Arme steps back and Apos can see a gleam of a knife in Arme’s hand. Apos straightens up, readies himself, but nothing happens. the officer lowers her hand, spotting something from the corner of her eye. “oi, Penensio, took you long enough.”

Apos turns in the direction she’s looking in. a man approaches them, his suit worn but pressed neatly, carrying himself much like Arme does-- with authority. his face is strict stern, weary, and when he sees Arme narrow his eyes in suspicion, he closes his eyes.

“Camilla,” Penensio starts, giving the younger officer a severe look. “did you check his ID?”

Camilla puffs up her chest. “the machine rang, it never rings! he’s suspicious, alright?”

“Arme, I apologize on behalf of my subordinate,” Penensio says, ignoring Camilla to address Arme. his voice is like water upon gravel, soothing, but Apos won’t relax. “some of our trainees can’t grasp the concept of a whitelist. Artea is waiting for you in the Magnolia Room.”

“thank you, Penensio.” Arme doesn’t smile, only adjusting his cuffs, sneaking his knife back into his sleeve. he steps away from Camilla to approach Apos, each stride purposeful, quick. Apos lifts his eyes to him curiously, but Arme reaches over and taps Apos’s arm. it dissipates his restlessness.

“I’m fine,” Apos says quietly, pocketing his own knife into his sleeve. reaches over to tug at Arme’s sleeve briefly. then he says, in a trailing whisper, “too close…”

Arme hums, understanding, but says nothing. he starts walking toward the doors, and Apos follows, keeps pace. as they enter the grand hall, Apos can still hear the shrill voice yelling softly behind him.

“you don’t find him the least bit suspicious, Penensio?”

“Camilla. when you’ve done this for as long as I have, you get to know all sorts.”

-

it’s rare that Arme doesn’t get his way.

Apos is used to the plain hotel lobbies, the executive chairs, the empty meeting rooms that overlook the cityscape. the quiet, sleek modern surfaces. minimal. silent.

Apos is not used to this. the ornate decorating, the plush sofas, and a tea and snacks arrangement upon the sleek coffee table. the high ceiling, the wallpaper patterned with golden flowers. this is a palace turned government building, but it’s the first time Apos has seen something so extravagant. so noisy.

Apos grew up in small white-walled rooms.

the other party of the meeting is already there, sitting at one of the couches next to the coffee table. Arme sweeps the room with his eyes, but he doesn’t have a chance to study it when the woman sets down her cup of tea and looks up at them.

smiles.

Apos isn’t sure how to read it.

“hello, Arme, I’m glad you could make it.”

Arme inclines his head. “hello, Artea.”

“I apologize for the mishap earlier, Arme.” there’s a knowing glint in her eyes, a sheepish chuckle in her voice. “this meeting was shoehorned into the schedule and security wasn’t properly briefed, so please overlook their mistakes. ah, don’t let me ramble like this, have a seat.”

Arme obliges. he sits himself on the opposite couch, folds his arms stubbornly. Artea tucks a stray blonde strand behind her ear, before folding her hands neatly on her lap. steam from the hot tea wafts from the small cup on the coffee table. it seems warm. like the expression Artea is giving Apos right now.

Apos glances away when he meets her eyes.

“please have a seat as well, um…”

“Apos,” Arme introduces curtly. then as an afterthought, “... my bodyguard.”

Artea’s smile doesn’t change, ever welcoming. “Apos, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Apos has no clue what to say, but Arme gives him a telling glance. so Apos takes a seat next to Arme, holds his hands together, waits for the woman to move her gaze away from him. itches at his black gloves again.

“alright, allow me to introduce myself officially. I am Artea Harmony, the Right Counselor to the King and chair of the Council,” Artea says, placing her hand over her chest, her voice replete with serenity. “it is with this position that I have requested your visit.”

Arme says nothing.

“first, I would like to thank you for your efficient handling of the rogue Elve,” Artea says, with an incline of her head. “we cannot spare the resources to respond to these types of situations, so I am grateful _Arme Thaumaturgy_ has stepped in to fill in the gap.”

Arme’s answer is a clipped, “it’s what we do.”

“and your company has performed exceptionally well in every regard,” Artea says, her smile glowing. “reliable, effective weapons; well-trained and trustworthy agents. you are remarkable for cultivating such an organization, Arme, and I am glad to have known you.”

Arme lifts his eyes to hers, blinks slowly. Apos glances over to Artea, stills. her green eyes are confusingly gentle, warm. Apos isn’t used to this, and it appears Arme isn’t either.

Artea clears her throat, when she realizes she won’t receive an answer. “to the point of our meeting then. I don’t believe I need to explain, I’m sure you know of _Henir_.”

Apos barely suppresses a flinch, grasps his hands tightly.

Arme simply answers, “yes.”

“we have been slow in responding to their challenges. year by year, they have become bolder and bolder. after the most recent attack on the Halls, the Council has realized that it is simply untenable for us to move forward without being able to control _Henir_ , if not outright eliminating it.”

Arme interjects sharply, gaze blank of emotion, “ _Thaumaturgy_ does not provide those kinds of services.”

“I am aware. Helen has relayed that to me before,” Artea points out gently. “however, that is the point for my request. this is not something I can disclose outside the walls of this building, and.... Apos.”

his name sounds strange when someone else says it. Apos looks up at her, curious, apprehensive.

“would you mind stepping outside for a moment?” Artea smiles kindly. “I would like to talk to Arme one-on-one.”

Apos doesn’t know how to answer. he glances over to Arme, who is frowning now.

“Apos stays,” Arme states curtly.

Artea nods, doesn’t ask. Apos feels himself breathe a little easier, though he lowers his eyes again. he curls his fingers against the plush couch, but Arme’s hand is too far away.

“I understand. then I will explain my request the best I can without disclosing classified information,” Artea says, “Arme. would you be interested in leading an agency with the resources and authority to match _Henir_?”

Arme stiffens, near imperceptibly. Artea doesn’t notice, but Apos does. he wants to, even more now, to reach over and give Arme some sort of comfort.

but here, like this, he can’t.

then, Arme whispers, “... _Elia_.”

 _Elia_?

Artea nods. “yes, the Council intends to reinstate _Elia_. I would like to recommend you as its Minister. as Minister, you will oversee both domestic and international operations as well as all covert intelligence gathering. the rest the Minister’s duties is, of course, classified. but it will be very similar to your current position, as president of _Arme Thaumaturgy_.”

Arme doesn’t answer, merely gazes absently at the tea table.

“well, you will have time to think about it,” Artea chuckles, raising her hand daintily over her mouth. “the wheels of bureaucracy move very slowly, though I doubt the Council will reject my recommendation. even without considering your history, you are the most qualified, most capable person I ever had the pleasure to meet. inimitable. I wholeheartedly believe that you would be the perfect _M_.”

Arme stands suddenly. his hand is tense, clenched into a fist, his expression stone. there’s a strange emotion in those crystal blue eyes Apos has never seen before.

… or has he?

“... I will think about it,” Arme says after a long silence. “I have another meeting soon.”

but Arme does not have another meeting today. Helen rescheduled all other meetings for this one. and Arme does not lie.

Apos reaches out, touches Arme’s wrist lightly. Arme doesn’t respond.

“ah, of course, I would hate to keep you,” Artea says easily, standing up with him. “thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to entertain my request, Arme.”

Arme doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t cue Apos to stand, like he normally does. Apos does so anyway and comes to pinch Arme’s sleeve. Arme opens his fingers, to catch Apos’s hand, but the touch is muffled by these gloves. Apos wiggles his fingers, starts to take his gloves off, but Arme only holds his wrist even tighter.

before they can leave, Artea calls out, “Arme, there is one more thing I would like to say.”

when they turn back toward her, Artea has bowed her head, her voice ringing clear.

“thank you. Arme. I have always wanted to be able to tell you directly. and I have never forgotten. you escorted me on my very first diplomatic mission to the Senace Kingdom, a mission essential to the kingdom and I would never have been able to complete without you.” Artea lifts her eyes, a smile within them. “from the bottom of my heart, thank you, _Executor_.”

Arme looks at her, before glancing away. finally, he says, quiet, “it was my job.”

-

Apos doesn’t ask questions. but he has many of them. what is _Elia_? who is _Executor_? the details of Arme’s past are hazy, complex. but like him, Arme had a past.

also, like him, Arme refuses to speak of it.

it’s a little past noon, but Arme takes them home already. Apos is fumbling with his shoes and socks at the threshold, as Arme locks the door behind them. Arme stops him, takes his left hand, pulls off his gloves, slowly traces his finger against the dim blue lines on the back of his hand. Apos blinks.

“... are you alright, Apos?” Arme’s tone is unusual, hard to place. but his touch is warm, soothing, his grip firm. Arme isn’t looking at him, staring down at Apos’s hands instead.

Apos doesn’t understand. “I’m fine.”

“good.” but it’s distant, unlike Arme, so Apos tugs his hand, brings Arme in close. it takes a moment, but Arme comes to wrap his arms around him tightly. shakes, barely.

why?

Apos tucks his hands around Arme’s back, in a way Arme always does when he holds him. secure. comforting. waits for Arme to tell him something. anything. 

Arme doesn’t.

all these questions Apos has… it all stems from a single one.

who is _Arme_?

Apos doesn’t ask. he never did, never will. so Apos only watches as Arme lowers his forehead to Apos’s shoulder, breaths fluttering, slowly calming. Apos feels something blooming in his chest, something warm, something alive, match the gentle beat of Arme’s heart.

the only thing Apos knows, the only thing he _needs_ to know: he needs to protect Arme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _angel!au (one day, one day):_
> 
> _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of a weapons technology company of the same name. literally weapon maker. he’s curiously adept at handling weapons and notoriously awful at interacting with people. he was a former _Elia_ agent, codenamed _Executor_. during his time at _Elia_ , he primarily acted as a bodyguard for Velder government officials. but all _Elia_ agents were trained to kill.
> 
>  _Apos_ was formerly _Apostasia_ , an agent contracted with the mysterious organization, _Henir_. but he no longer recognizes that name. Apos met Arme after his last mission a year ago; since then, he has stayed by Arme’s side. Apos takes his job seriously, even though Arme is perfectly capable of protecting himself. to everyone that is not Arme, his presence is baffling, almost terrifying. but Arme seems more relaxed when Apos is around.
> 
>  _Elia_ was the intelligence agency for Velder Kingdom. the agency used to handle domestic incidents, such as attacks by former citizens of the defunct city-state Elves, as well as international organizations such as _Henir_. after the previous minister was removed, the Council came to an impasse on naming a successor and the agency was shut down completely. they intend to re-establish _Elia_.
> 
>  _Penensio_ is the head of security at the Halls of Velder, the building housing the Council as well as other agency. he was formerly Secretary of Defense, head of the military branch of the government. he’s not fond of pushing paper, so now he organizes and trains security officials for the entire government.
> 
>  _Artea_ is the head of the Council, the governing body of Velder. the Velder royals are figureheads, so as the Right Counselor to the King, Artea is the highest de facto authority in Velder. a former diplomat, she took frequent trips abroad to other kingdoms, accompanied by _Elia_ ’s protection detail, which is how she knew Arme as _Executor_.
> 
>  _Camilla_ is a trainee security officer.  
> 


	83. 96; (angel!au) arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 96; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> (angel!au: Arme is the president of a weapons technology company. Apostasia is the assassin sent to kill him.) he can’t.
> 
> _related_ : (please read first) [48](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/158354274395/48) | [65](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159679304884/65-12) / [66](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159754808691/66-22) | [94](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163214593556/94-12) / [95](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163328207104/95-22)  
> 

Arme Thaumaturgy.

founder and president of _Arme Thaumaturgy_ , a weapons technology company. creator of the _angel_ weapons. a former _Elia_ agent. a threat to _Henir_.

his assignment. his mark.

none of that matters anymore.

the window is shattered behind him, wind flushing into the room. there’s a blade pressed into his gut and a blade pressed against his neck. he bleeds, but he feels no pain. he hasn’t, for a long time.

the man before him– the man called Arme Thaumaturgy– is looking at him with sharp blue eyes. his gaze cuts through him, like the glass knives cutting into his flesh. those eyes that reflects his own, a mirror into his own blank stare. his own blade is raised to the man’s neck.

– but he can’t.

the knife slips from his hand, falls to the carpet floor. anyone else and he would have not hesitated. anyone else and he would have felt nothing. but this time, an emotion stirs, rises up from his core. this is the assignment he was given, the culmination of his being, the very purpose of his creation, and he– _can’t_ kill him.

he is a weapon. weapons were made to kill.

he places a hand on those fingers, the ones that press the blade into his neck. he closes his eyes, resigns himself. this is his fate. he is given this choice, so he will die by these hands.

there are no words. the knife pulls out of his stomach, then the one at his neck too. he feels himself crumple to the ground, but strong hands come to hold him steady. when he opens his eyes, he sees only kindness in those blue eyes.

he doesn’t understand.

and yet, he does.

Arme Thaumaturgy reaches his arms under him, lifts him to move him to the couch nearby. sits him on it slowly, rearranging his limp arms. Arme pulls bandages from a nearby drawer, carefully dresses his bleeding wounds. when Arme is finished, he curls himself up into a ball, pulls his knees to his chest.

Arme pulls off his blazer, drapes it over his head. tucks it over his shoulders. he looks up into Arme’s blue eyes, but they’re distant, cold. familiar. he gathers the cloth between his hands, keeps the fabric tight over his head. watches as Arme paces over to the phone on his desk, dials a number, and holds the phone to his ear.

he hears the muffled sounds as clearly as they are spoken.

“Arme, what a surprise. I assume, by your call, my hypothesis was wrong.”

he knows that voice. it is the voice of the man who gave him this assignment. his fingers clench into the coat, his breath hitching.

“explain yourself. Luto.”

a voice too, that he knows. he can’t place it. the bluntness is familiar, the sharp tone, uncanny. but there is no impatience, no rage. only blank indifference.

“what is there to explain? you have met little _Apostasia_. I’m sure you can come to your own conclusions.”

 _Apostasia_. he closes his eyes, pulls the coat further over his forehead to hide his face. _Apostasia_ is a weapon who can kill without hesitation. _Apostasia_ is not him. _Apostasia_ is not weak, like he is. _Apostasia_ is not an absolute failure, like he has always been.

“then it is pointless for him to return. you’ll only destroy him.”

“children learn quickly.” Luto chuckles, his voice grating like sandpaper against his skin. “you are right, Arme. _Apostasia_ failed. what use is a weapon that cannot kill?”

silence. and a declaration, “then he will stay with me.”

“your mercy makes you so intriguing, Arme. but I cannot claim to understand the mind of an angel.”

Arme hangs up abruptly, his expression stone, before sweeping those sharp blue eyes over to him. he looks away. 

that voice softens.

“… he called you _Apostasia_.”

the word makes him flinch. he feels a hand reach for his neck, touches the bandaged wound, before resting firmly on his shoulder. a comfort he wants, so badly craves, but he can’t allow himself to have.

“… why,” he rasps out. his own voice sounds foreign to him. “why are you doing this?”

why is Arme sparing him? _comforting_ him?

he should be destroyed– he should have been destroyed a long time ago.

“because I want to,” comes the simple answer. those words are honest, sincere. “this is something I want to do.”

wants. desires. things he could have never fathom having before. but now he knows what he wants. it is something he does not deserve. it is the very thing Arme is giving to him.

arms come around his shoulders and he can only stare blankly ahead. his whole body shakes, as he feels something riot within him, even as a gentleness wraps around him, encompasses him.

“… may I call you, Apos?”

it rings clear, like a soothing chime. calms his erratic heart. he doesn’t answer, presses his face into Arme’s shoulder. the embrace around him tightens, holds him, desperately.

he closes his eyes.

so he does remember.

-

_“does it help?” those fiery blue eyes are gentle when they look at him. he holds the blanket over his head, even though his insides continue to gnaw at him, even though the pain continues to tear him apart. he feels a warmth come to rest beside him, in comfort._

_“it’s better.” he doesn’t lie. even though it never truly gets better. at least, so long as he feels this warmth, everything will…_

_– it’s gone._

-

Apos wakes up buried in blankets, heart pounding in his chest. he blinks his eyes blearily, heavy with sleep. it has been awhile since he’s dreamed. Arme’s resting against him quietly, breaths soft. when he sits up, the blanket on his head slides off and he shuffles closer to Arme, in a silent request.

so Arme brings an arm around him.

“a nightmare?”

Apos blinks, but when Arme reaches over to touch his cheek, Apos realizes they are moist. Apos nestles into Arme’s embrace, holds onto the trace of the memory.

the kindness he knew before, the kindness Arme shows him now. it is one and the same. Apos knows. he’s always known.

“stay,” Apos says, allows that bit of selfishness to rise up. his fingers, stained black, grasp at Arme’s shirt tightly. “stay with me, Arme.”

“I am.” there’s a bit of confusion in Arme’s eyes, and then the understanding. “I will.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _angel!au_ ;
> 
>  _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is the founder and president of the weapons technology company of the same name. in his previous life, he was known as the _Executor_ , one of _Elia’s_ most effective agents. his training was in close-quarter combat and he served most often as a bodyguard, in service of the government. when _Elia_ was shut down, he decided instead to pursue his interest in creating weapons.
> 
>  _Apos_ is formerly _Apostasia_ , an agent contracted with the mysterious organization, _Henir_. but he no longer recognizes that name. the last mission he was given was to eliminate Arme, but upon meeting him, Apos could not. so Arme took him in, decided to designate Apos as his personal bodyguard. no one understands why and Arme doesn’t bother explaining himself. Apos doesn’t care; all he wants is hugs from Arme.  
> 


	84. 97; (feather!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 97; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (feather!au: Erblu and Apos are human. yet their memories as celestials still linger.) with time comes healing.

it’s a quiet, unassuming place, nestled in a small enclave in the center of town. where the sun ripples through the curtains, winds nudge against the chimes, and blossoms rustle pink in the growing light.

Erblu nestles his face into his pillow, curls his body against the soft blankets. the birds greet the morning, but there’s quiet otherwise in the small room. he stirs reluctantly, props himself up on the bed. fumbles with the sheets, before confirming that there indeed is not another person in the bed. so he climbs out, dragging his soft green blanket with him.

“Apos?” but his voice is too soft for anyone to hear. Erblu grumbles a little under his breath, tries to rub away the daze in his eyes.

when he opens the bedroom door, he sees Apos sitting on the couch against the wall, knees pulled against his chest, staring blankly at the empty wall in front of him. one of his hands is over his left arm and Erblu doesn’t miss the way Apos rubs his fingers against the imprints on his skin. it’s something that lingers, like an uninvited guest, and the motion makes the prickling around Erblu’s left eye itch as well.

but there’s no reason to dwell on it now. here, in the now, there is a weariness in Apos’s eyes and a spring chill in the air. it’s too cold for Apos to sit here sleeveless. so Erblu sidles next to him carefully, wraps the blanket around Apos’s shoulders. then slowly, Erblu comes to wrap his arms around Apos, clasping his hands in front of his chest, leans in to doze against Apos’s shoulder.

eventually, Erblu asks, “couldn’t sleep?”

Apps takes his hands, meticulously pries them open to tuck his hand between them. Erblu smiles, holds Apos’s hand firmly. the lines on the back of his hands, like a sigil, like a curse, like a thing Erblu should understand.

it’s a phantom pain Erblu can’t feel. he knows, these wounds are ones that love struggles to heal. 

but time can.

and they have more time now.

Erblu doesn’t know how or why. does it matter? a faint cool breeze tickles against the curtains and an unwavering peace settles with the mid-morning rays. golden sigils float above him, in rest, in remembrance.

when Erblu wakes up, he is alone again. he pouts a little when he realizes it, blinking his eyes open blearily, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. he hears a rumbling from the kitchen, his mind too clouded to discern the sounds.

a rustling, and then, a gentle kiss to his forehead. a touch of good morning.

“it’s noon, Erblu.” the voice, hushed, is a worn murmur.

“mm, Apos.” Erblu smiles, mumbles sleepily, “it’s still too early. was up late, let me sleep.”

Apos sits next to him, and Erblu immediately leans into him, nuzzles into his embrace. Apos hesitates but wraps an arm around his shoulder, lets him. the scent of peppermint tea wafts toward him, parts the fog of his sleep slowly. but Erblu buries his face into Apos’s shoulder stubbornly, curls into the warmth of Apos’s presence.

because he is determined to keep this solace. because he is determined to have this always.

they have time, now. time to heal their wounds. time to live, to feel, to exist.

but this time is not eternal.

-

they glow softly, the feathers of light that float around them. sparkling, ephemeral, ethereal. Apos reaches out to one again, but it merely melts into his hand. and then he hears it, a shattered echo.

_“Apos– no, Apos!”_

it’s the voice that haunts him in his dreams, his nightmares. it’s Erblu’s. but Apos can’t recall, can’t remember. he only feels the burn of the scars upon his arms, feels the hollow flickering within his chest. feels a familiar dread settling within himself.

but he won’t dwell on it now. here, now, Erblu does not cry. he smiles, if only a little tiredly, if only a little sadly, still bearing the scars Apos doesn’t understand. Erblu settles to sleep slowly, nestled into his embrace, breaths soft, fragile. so Apos gathers him close, lowers his face into Erblu’s hair, listens to his quiet snores. it comforts, it soothes, it lulls him to sleep too.

the feathers that dance with the motes of sunlight, the feathers that pulse with the breath of the wind. the feathers that call to him in a language he has forgotten–

Apos can’t remember what they were.


	85. 98; (college!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 98; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (college!au) there are days when he doesn’t feel like existing.

listless. lethargic.

watching the sunlight grow then fade behind the curtains he never touches. the sounds outside his door is a murmur, a chatter, too loud, too _loud_ , then too quiet. outside the window, the light dies another time. the light within him died many years ago.

his body is heavy, immovable. it’s so much easier to lie here. so much easier to die here.

he is not stupid.

yet he still dares to pray.

when he opens his eyes again, he sees a flashing blue light in the darkness, muffled against his pillow. his phone, a message.

he curls his fingers around his phone, turns it on. when the screen lights up, he blinks his eyes, tries to read the words through his blurry haze.

_[im okay]  
[dont worr]_

he stares at it for a long moment. he can almost see those scarred fingers struggling to type those words. almost see the hesitation to send them. eventually, he drops his phone onto his bed. the ceiling shifts in his vision, before he closes his eyes, curls into his pillow. those words repeat over and over in his mind.

_“don’t worry about me.”_

_there’s a smile he sees in his mind, sad, lonely. arms that hug the worn stuffed rabbit, the bandages hiding that blinded eye._

_when he runs, he’s not frantic. he knows what he needs to find. – who._

_the journey seems perpetual. in his veins, he feels the pumping of adrenaline in his veins, energy he hasn’t felt for a long time._

_“just… don’t forget about me.”_

_is it a nightmare if he doesn’t know whether he’s dead or alive?_

he wakes.

the curtains are open. it’s midday. the clock ticks loudly in his head. there’s the fluttering of pages, a soft humming. a bed of gray hair rests against his futon. he reaches for it, buries his hand into it. he hears laughing. of course, it's Erblu.

Erblu turns to look at him with smiling green eyes. “good morning, sleepyhead.”

“… morning,” Apos mumbles, though it’s not morning. the blankets atop him has multiplied, tucked around him neatly. his laptop’s no longer perched haphazardly on the edge of the futon but resting on the coffee table instead. his phone sits on top of it, still blinking.

“Apos? are you alive?”

“no,” he says automatically. Erblu smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Wander called me to check up on you,” Erblu says, propping his elbow on the futon. “said you weren’t answering his messages.”

“I never do,” Apos says. “he shouldn’t have sent them in the first place.”

“you’re his brother. of course he wanted to.” then quietly, Erblu says, “… Apos.”

Apos doesn’t look at him. slowly Erblu tucks his arms around Apos’s body, perches his chin on the futon. “Wander… will he be alright?”

it stabs like spreading ice, the thought that Erblu _knows_. how much does he know?

“he’s been through worse,“ he says vaguely. not that it makes this any better. Wander– almost drowned. Apos wasn’t there for him– couldn’t be. there isn’t any emotion he can put into these words. he’s too tired to.

Erblu’s eyes soften. “… what about you?”

Apos doesn’t care. “does it matter?”

Erblu reaches up to Apos’s hair, brushes the long strands from his eyes. Apos intercepts him, takes his hand, before pulling Erblu onto the futon entirely. Erblu squeaks, but he lets Apos tug him onto his lap. slowly, Erblu wraps his arms around Apos’s shoulders.

Apos is still for awhile.

“… Apos?” Erblu nudges his cherk gently into him. Apos squeezes him tightly. “Wander told me to tell you–”

“I know.”

of course he did. of course Wander told him. of course Wander told him everything.

Erblu didn’t need to know. doesn't. he doesn’t need to _care_ –

“then stop worrying and start taking care of yourself.”

Erblu tickles his fingers through Apos’s hair, calming, soothing. Apos feels himself detach, senses blurring, as Erblu cups his cheek, presses a gentle kiss on his forehead. there’s this kindness he doesn’t understand, this gentleness that surrounds him.

“let me make you something to eat. it looks like you haven’t eaten in days.”

Erblu’s right, but he says nothing. what is this emotion? Erblu tries to stand up but Apos’s grip only clamps harder as he nestles his face against Erblu’s neck. Erblu laughs, the tinkling charm that unravels the knots in his chest.

“come on, Apos, I promised him I’d take care of you. so let me take care of you.”

the light is too bright for him to remain asleep. so he’s awake now. the light outside, coming in from the window, the light of those kind green eyes. he doesn’t want to let this go.

is it a dream if he can’t believe this is reality?  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _college!au (feat. apos, wander)_
> 
> same setting as my college au, expanding on Apos’s and Wander’s story now.
> 
> Apos is a college student, living alone near the university with little to no motivation to attend classes. Wander is his younger brother by seven years, now in high school. they fended for themselves until Apos went to college and left Wander to stay with their aunt. the only reason Apos bothers going to college is because of Wander.
> 
> Wander always carries a stuffed bunny with him. it is named Ishy and used to belong to Apos.  
> 


	86. 99; ain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 99; Ain
> 
> celestials are not created to understand.

celestials are the tools of the goddess, created by her to carry out her will.

he reminds himself of this, often, because the chaos of this space is too closed, too empty, too powerful. it stains into the very core of his being, a chaos that he, a broken shard of light, is too weak to resist.

but he perseveres. he must. he is a celestial, sent to this world to carry out the goddess’s plan. he is an instantiation of her grace, an instrument of her will, a mere extension of her being.

he follows the tiniest sliver of hope in through a howling rift, feels his celestial form manifest with the power of the heavens again.

he will not fail.

he can not fail.

-

it unnerves him, that he can’t understand. the emotion in their eyes, the sorrow, the pain.

he is but light given form by the goddess; he was not created to understand.

“we have to save him,” Miss Knight says, her voice reaching out for empathy, for assurance. “we need to gather the strength to bring him back. it may be impossible, but we can’t sit around and let Elsword be another sacrifice for the El.”

Elsword. the one whose light pulled him out of the abyss. the one whose life now sustains the core of this world itself. he should have known– he did know. that is why he accompanied Elsword here.

to restore the El. that was his mission.

not to watch Elsword restore it himself.

when he delves in through the rift alone, he reaches out, tries to project his voice through the mist of El. he tries to recall the emotion he has felt, the memories he’s been given, the life that has sprung up within him. not that which was created by the will of the goddess, but that which he created on his own.

the will of El tangles around his hand, reaches for him.

_“Ain, I can’t allow any more people to be sacrificed.”_

_“Elsword, you don’t understand. I am–”_

_“no.” Elsword shakes his head, a solemn look in his eyes. “I know. I_ know _. that’s why I can’t allow you to sacrifice yourself. you deserve to be your own person.”_

and he holds, steadfast, refuses to allow it.

_“Ain, go.”_

the El explodes.

-

in this abyss, he has time to think.

twice now, the explosion sundered space and time in two. twice now, he was thrust into the abyss.

in this void, he has only himself to blame.

it is too late. he failed his mission. far from the goddess, far from the world of creation, he drifts, his light unspooling within this void.

is there hope left? will he be thrown another five hundred years into the future to amend his mistakes? or will he be left here, to be consumed by the corruption seeping into his form? what is the fate of this world? what is the fate of Elsword?

he does not know.

-

he wakes. he is no longer in the abyss, but sitting up in bed, surrounded by soft quilts. it is unusual, but he feels a strange tiredness weigh upon his form. his human form. when he sees himself in the mirror, he starts, the bright green eyes peering at him in surprise. the blue of his hair has faded into gray again, a tiny splash of blue peeking from behind his collar. when he shifts his fingers, he sees tiny sparkles of projection magic forming a small blade– nothing like the immense swords he used to craft with a snap of a finger.

he realizes, he’s nothing like the _Arme Thaumaturgy_ he once was.

the goddess gave him a second chance.

he can change this.

the mingling form of the El that comforts and soothes comes to surround him, embrace him. when he holds out his hand, it mingles with the divine presence of the goddess.

if he comes to understand this, will he come to understand her plan for this world?

-

they are here again, at the edge of the world and at its center, Elrianode, the ancient city of El.

and Elesis is angry. she can’t contain her fiery, passionate emotion. “I don’t care. Elsword was _not_ allowed to sacrifice himself.”

“stern words for someone so usually calm, Miss Knight,” he says, a gentle smile on his lips, and Elesis sighs.

“I promised our dad that I would look after him.” the emotion in her eyes burn red with the same intensity as Elsword. “see, I’ll let him burn himself, but that’s to teach him not do it again. not to toss himself into it.”

this emotion. this is the emotion humans call love. this is what it is, isn’t it? a precious emotion he still does not understand.

courage– _mut_. kindness– _rein_. conviction– _wille_.

none of them is the emotion _love_.

when they set off to retrieve Elsword, the El hangs like a forbidden mist around the rift. he remembers this, the memories echoing within his mind. but this time, he is not alone. he is with the companions who knows him, calls him one of their own. the warmth that surrounds him and the magic that strengthens him, they steady him with a familiar confidence.

he reaches in, a guiding hand in through the rift. he tries to find the one who called him friend. the one who tried to save him from himself all those times and spaces ago. he feels a fire return to him, a determination, a will.

he will succeed this time.

the El cracks.

he pauses, surprised. but this is exactly as the Master of Water predicted. to save Elsword means to destabilize the El. but the priestesses, the Masters– they should be working to hold it together.

but perhaps it’s not enough. he too needs to contribute. as a celestial of the goddess, he was sent to this world to restore the El. surely, surely, he still has the power to fulfill his mission. surely, he can still use the power that the goddess gave him.

_“… Ain, you said your mission was to restore the El, right?”_

_“mm, yes. it is, Elsword.” there is no reason to lie. it is his only purpose and the reason for his creation._

_“what will happen after that? when the El is restored?”_

_and he hesitates. Elsword notices._

_“… will you disappear, Ain?”_

of course. that has never changed. he will disappear. and he realizes now, he doesn’t want to. all the friends he made, all the memories he created. the human self he nurtured, although it remains imperfect, insufficient. the comfort he has come to know as a human. if he disappears, he will lose all that.

but he is a celestial. and celestials are tools of the goddess. he needs to restore the El. he needs to bring back Elsword.

Elsword, who has a place in this world. Elsword, who is treasured and beloved by his friends. Elsword, who is much more powerful than he, a mere speck of light, who will be forgotten when his mission is complete.

he lowers his head, summons the last remnants of his divine power into his hand, draws close to the solidified will of the El itself. he closes his eyes, murmurs in the language of the heavens.

if the goddess will allow him, he will finally fulfill his mission.

_“Ain– no!”_

his concentration shatters.

so does the El.

-

he floats

again.

in the void, his form slowly fades away, consumed by the chaos in this abyss.

was he not strong enough? had he lost sight of his mission?

did he venture too far from the goddess?

he doesn’t understand the emotion that plagues him, taunts him.

he came to understand humans. their emotions, their fragility, their power, their helplessness. he understood humanity, he understood his own. where he failed the first time, he succeeded the second. so why

why did he fail again?

he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t

understand

if he was not meant to be the weapon of the goddess  
if he was not meant to be the emissary to humanity  
then what  
was   
he   
meant   
to   
be?

-

he wakes. but he doesn’t want to wake. there’s an emotion curling within him, an imperfect, ugly emotion.

he sees himself again in the mirror. in those long gray strands, the light blue of the goddess has returned. in his eyes, a delicate green coolness. over his left eye, the mark of Henir has spread. it shakes him to his core.

why… did the goddess give him another chance?

he has failed, three times.

he does not deserve to be a celestial. he does not deserve to be human.

he does not deserve to exist.

the power of the goddess flickers in his hand, before chaos traverses too across his palm. he waits, but there is no other signs. there doesn’t need to be.

he understands.

he must restore the El.

-

wherever he turns, he sees only the darkness. the shadows that lap at his feet, the shadows that haunt these smiles. it unnerves him, because he has never noticed it before.

this pure, undiluted evil.

when he uses his power, it is tainted, pitch dark with the corruption of the void. but it doesn’t matter. he needs to complete his mission. stubbornly, he pushes forward. desperately, he accepts this strange power. anything to rectify his mistakes, anything to complete his mission. but still, his broken form fractures. still, his agony grows. but surely, the goddess had a reason… surely, the goddess had a plan…

like this, he cannot restore the El. his being is too tainted by this emotion. the emotion he doesn't understand, the emotion that gnaws at his core.

_“is restoring the El so important to you, Ain?”_

_he’s grasping his arm, feels the darkness carved into his skin, the pain consuming his eye. “… yes. it is the only reason for my existence, Elsword.”_

_“why? why can’t you exist for yourself?”_

_he gazes up at those puzzled eyes. he knows his own are weary. he can no longer smile. “I… can’t.”_

_Elsword gives him a confident smile. “sure you can! don’t think about it anymore. just live. … at least try to live.”_

he cannot. he is not human. he cannot live as humans do. he was not created with that purpose, with that absolute _will_.

so why…

why is he still here?

-

they never make it to Elrianode. the party crumbles, torn apart by the dark El.

it is just as well. with his power, he would only corrupt the goddess’s creation.

that is, if the goddess still exists.

in the void, he searches for his truth.

in the void, there is nothing. no gods, no humans, no will. only the abyss, only the emptiness, only the nothingness.

then it is nothing

the truth is nothing

-

he lays shattered in a pool of his own chaos

he remembers nothing  not how he came here  or how this came to be

if this is the end  then will he witness it

the end

that is the beginning  that is the nothing  that is

  


…

..

.

he wakes

again.

it’s the same place. the same time. the same bed, the same blankets. but the scars upon his skin are gone, only the merest phantom pain. so too is the black corruption that ate through his veins. but his power is weak, his humanity is weak. his soul, his will, _he_ –

– is weak.

“Ain, are you alright?”

… who? but the red-haired boy looking at him gives him a carefree smile. it opens the book of his memories past and it returns like a rush.

his past. his failures. the three times he met this boy.

Elsword.

“everyone was worried when you fainted, I thought something was– Ain?”

he can barely summon his words. “… Elsword, I’m sorry.”

Elsword blinks, clearly confused. “what are you sorry about?”

sorry for failing, over and over again. sorry for failing to protect him, in all his previous worlds, in all of his previous lives.

but he can’t say that. so he tries to smile.

“I’m sorry for being a burden.”

“but Ain, you’re not a burden. you’ve helped us with so much!” Elsword says, a hearty smile on his face. “take your time and rest. you deserve it.”

does he…? after all that has happened, after all the worlds he has failed? after it all, why does he still exist?

“Ain, stop looking so worried. no matter what happens, we’ll make it. we _all_ will make it, in the end.”

he lifts his eyes, meets those sparkling eyes, ever flowing of optimism, naivety. he can’t help but smile a little too. for Elsword’s sake, he will pretend to believe. for El’s sake, he will try understand.

the purpose he was given, to restore the El.

and the purpose Elsword has always insisted that he have.

to live.  



	87. 100; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu becomes tiny, with cat ears.

“Arme! I love you!”

the moment he walks in, Arme’s headbutted in the face by an aggressive ball of energy. it sounds like Erblu, feels like Erblu, except… much smaller.

… much, much smaller.

“Erblu…?”

Erblu mews affirmatively, climbing down to sit at the crook of his arm. small fingers tug at the lapel of his coat, before Erblu plants his face into Arme’s chest. a tail, fluffy and light gray, curls around Arme’s hand, its tip tied in a large green bow.

Arme looks over at Elsword blankly for an explanation. Elsword stiffens up and starts stammering, “sorry, Arme, we ran into a trap, we weren’t being careful, Ain protected us, this happens. until you showed up, he wouldn’t get down from the top of the shelf or stop pelting us with his light balls, so I’m glad. that you’re back, I mean.”

oh. so these fragile Eids, the intermittent trembling. the unusual cat-like ears flickering atop Erblu’s head. Erblu purrs a little when Arme brings his hand to stroke the inside of his ear, and Arme lifts his hand away. he looks up to see Elsword skirting away into the parlor.

“so uh, Aisha’s looking for a counterspell, it might take awhile since he wouldn’t let her touch him, but if you could look after him for now, that’d be great, thanks!”

and then he’s gone.

well then.

Arme shifts Erblu’s tiny form onto one arm, before he starts up the stairs to Erblu’s bedroom. Erblu clings onto him tightly, balling the sleeves of Arme’s coat into his fists. once behind the door, Arme lets out a breath.

“Arme?”

Arme looks at the wide, warm green eyes staring up at him. Erblu noses into his chest with a sniff. the soft gray cat ears are flutter against his head, and the tail wraps itself tightly around his arm.

“conserve your energy,” Arme says, bringing his other arm securely under Erblu.

“… so you know,” Erblu says, more normally. still, he rubs his ear against Arme.

“of course. you’re in this form because your energy’s dangerously low,” Arme says. he places Erblu onto the bed, and Erblu pouts. “now stop acting this way.”

“this form is cute. I must act in a way that suits my form.” Erblu sparkles, allowing tiny glowing Eids to surround him. he stands up and reaches out with his hands to grab Arme’s fingers. “pet me, Arme.”

Arme furrows his brow. “why?”

Erblu places Arme’s hand on his head. waits until Arme starts stroking the soft cup of his ear. Erblu starts purring again, closing his eyes in satisfaction, the sound rumbling deep in his throat.

Arme frowns. “it’s a superficial spell; it shouldn’t have affected your behavior.”

“it doesn’t. not really.” Erblu glances away a little. “I just uh, needed an excuse to get away from Miss Fox and Miss Elf. they wouldn’t stop picking me up and hugging me and putting ribbons on my tail and…”

ah. Arme picks at the green bow, untying it from Erblu’s tail. Erblu perks up, bats at his newly freed tail curiously, before tumbling backward onto the bed with a small oof. so much for not being affected. 

“so instead of cooperating, you decided to act like a child until I returned.”

“because I like you so much better, Arme!” Erblu pops up, smiling innocently. and then his smile drops. “I mean, I can’t hide my celestial nature very well like this. Miss Magician or that demon can easily detect my power. and you know, that’s even harder to explain.”

Arme understands. he pulls his hand back, but Erblu jumps and catches onto his sleeve. “how long will this last?”

“I don’t know,” Erblu says, tugging at his hand. “and you know what, I don’t care. come sit down, Arme.”

Arme obliges and Erblu clambers onto his lap. he adjusts himself a little bit, kneads his hands thoughtfully into Arme’s lap, before parting Arme’s coat to nestle comfortably against him. Erblu closes his eyes, allowing the Eids around him flash a pale, weak gold.

so Arme places a hand against Erblu’s hair, brushes Erblu’s ears gently with a healing touch. Erblu releases a happy sigh, snuggling closer into Arme’s divine aura, curls his entire body around Arme’s other hand. his tail comes to tuck itself between Arme’s fingers.

then quietly, clearly, Erblu says, “I love you, Arme.”

Arme blinks. “is there anything else you need, Erblu?”

“no,” Erblu chirps. “just this. just you.”

“… alright.”  



	88. 101; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 101; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> there is one thing that Apos believes in.

beauty, like crystal, a fragile grace.

he never fully realized the vulnerability of this delicate power, the limit of this awesome divinity. it was hard to. seeing beyond the radiant light, the absolute form of the seraphim, and believing it to be anything but perfect.

but now, it is within his hands. it rests against the broken cracks of his impure skin, a glimmering shard of hope in this singular and vast void. and it remains, a wisp of the former celestial, a stubborn, persistent core.

he pulls it close to his chest, to the void which was once his core. it folds into him reluctantly, the light at once thrashing against the cage that is his hollow body, and then, slowly, willingly, melding into him.

he hears it still. and still he does not understand.

_“I need to complete my mission.”_

_“I need to fulfill my purpose.”_

_“I need… I need… to protect…”_

_“Apos!”_

he feels the strength of this conviction. but what is the purpose of it, when in the end, it all comes to nothing?

-

he wanders, aimless. these worlds fold before him, too weak, too plagued with demons of their own creation. he does not know what to find and where to find it. but there is something that drives him, a reason he perpetuates this meaningless existence.

a purpose? no, he does not have one anymore.

a desire, then.

the light moves him. it has become more than a simple comfort. its determination spreads through his being, guides him through the worlds. even though the corruption of his shell slowly chips away at its strength, it remains, a quiet solace, a silent grace.

he does not hope.

but he wants.

he finds a world, with dewy grass and crumbling stone, with a shining sun and gentle breeze, splashing water just below his feet. he doesn’t realize where he come to until he stands before the pulsing shard and realizes it is the one that gave this world its life.

and he understands.

from his chest, he extracts that tiny light. his body heave in protest, and reluctantly, the light parts, its tendrils webbing across his fingers, clinging. at the stone, he places it, watches it radiate with a divine blue light.

then at the foot of the stone, he falls. the light that had been within him, that comforted him, that pushed him here– where it used to rest is now only emptiness.

he curls into himself, the cracks in his form innumerable, his will finally broken.

he forgets himself. he forgets the world.

-

something tickles him, strokes his cheek. it comes around his neck, feather light against his skin. he shifts his head a little, opens his eyes to see pale white fingers touch his cheek. absent, empty blue eyes watch him.

Arme.

without a warning, Apos grabs his wrist. he sees a brief flicker of emotion in those eyes and feels the hand verge upon shattering. but nothing happens. glowing white wings come down around him like a curtain, a pair at a time, and then all together.

there are no words. there never is.

this celestial form is still fragile, made of a dream-like substance. but the light that radiates from the form burns a chill in his hand. so it is not a dream. Arme raises his other hand to press it against Apos’s chest, curls his fingers into the emptiness that was his core.

Apos tightens his grip desperately, almost breaking Arme’s hand. but the touch in his core is familiar, soothing. it comforts, even as it sparks of pain too.

“… Arme.”

his voice is a broken echo, desperate. the barest nod of Arme’s head, the gentle cradle of those wings. Arme tries to lift him up, but Apos reaches out to pull him down.

“stay– stay, Arme–”

and Arme closes his eyes. the fingers within his core shift and Apos stills, feels a familiar power surge through him. he hears the voice imprint into his mind.

_“I will, Apos. I need to be here to protect you.”_

Arme leans in, presses his lips gently against Apos’s forehead. the trace of divinity flutters against the curse of his chaos.

Apos falls into the serenity, feels a steadiness bloom within his core. he no longer knows day from night, light from darkness. only this power, only this light. he only knows the presence, the kindness, the mercy of this resilient god– and nothing else.

“I want, Arme,” Apos whispers, feels the hum of Arme’s power in response. “I want…”

he closes his hand around white feathered wings, feels it brush back against his fingers. he feels it curtain over him, the divine power of creation, and another power too, come to shelter him, protectively. one that he never understood, one that he will never understand.

 _“I know.”_ a hum thrums through his body. _“rest, Apos.”_

and so he does, closing his eyes in peace. because if there is one thing in this world that he truly believes in– 

it is Arme.


	89. 102; executor / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 102; Lofty Executor / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Executor wants Wander to stay. Wander doesn’t understand why.

he knows he shouldn’t.

he’s tainted, impure, withering, weak, his soul twisted, shattered, succumbed to the chaos creeping into his core. every one of those disgusting thoughts that run through his mind linger like the darkness spidering across his skin, because he knows-- they are true.

so he shouldn’t.

but Executor’s slumped against the stone, breath shallow, movements stuttered, celestial light flickering, leaning ever so slightly into Wander’s aura, at peace even as the chaos dust soak into the cracks in his arm. so Wander swallows his doubts, takes Executor’s hand into his own, black with corruption, and tries to pray.

no words come out. his will falters. but Executor stirs and Wander stills, gazes up into the blank green eye observing him.

Executor lifts his hand, and they watch as bits of his creation magic splutter into sparkling light over his palm. he lowers it again, expression distant, unreadable. Wander grasps Executor’s other hand even tighter and bows his head.

“... sorry,” Wander says, because there is nothing else he can say. “I’m... sorry.”

“don’t say sorry to me,” Executor answers sharply. Wander feels his chest tighten up. “celestials have no need for apologies. nor do we have any need for regret.”

but in this sorry state of his, he is no longer a celestial. regardless of what Executor thinks.

Wander glances away. he says softly, “you wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you didn’t come for me.”

Executor frowns. “what did I say? I don’t regret what I did. so don’t apologize to me.”

Wander falls silent. Executor’s still letting him hold his hand, even though the deep chaos is seeping black into his skin. Wander notices and drops his hands to his side, but still, he stays, lets Executor’s weak celestial aura tuck itself around him, because the alternative is to _not_.

Executor lets out a short sigh, before he takes Wander’s arm and pulls him to sit beside him. Wander squeaks as he falls to the ground, scrambling to pull away.

“stay here,” Executor says. his voice is firm and so is his grip, so Wander acquiesces easily, comes to rest beside him.

Executor closes his eyes again, still holding his broken arm close to him. the strands of light from his form unravel into the air like white smoke, flecks of chaos mingling within the purity of his aura.

Wander gazes down at his hand. the cloth bandages that barely hide his corruption. the emblem of chaos, the mark of Henir, the doubt that was seeded inside of him. every moment he stays with Executor is a chance for it to consume them both.

he shouldn’t. but Executor’s light comforts him, protects him. he shouldn’t, because he, a failure of a celestial, does not deserve forgiveness and salvation.

so he shouldn’t--

Wander starts when he feels a touch against his head, against the bandages wrapped around his cursed eye. Executor’s looking at him again thoughtfully, and Wander feels those fingers touch the space over his eye. Executor’s hand moves to his shoulder and Executor pulls Wander closer toward him.

“... you’re thinking too much,” Executor finally says. “don’t.”

Wander doesn’t look at him. Executor’s right. to think is to doubt. and Wander has already doubted too much. so he asks, resigned, small. “then… what can I do?”

Executor doesn’t answer immediately. when Wander looks up at him, Executor’s considering him thoughtfully. because Wander’s never asked Executor what he should do. Executor shrugs. “just… stay here. until I recover. you still have your power, right?”

a power that has been twisted into a blasphemy against the goddess, but a power, still, yes.

“then protect me,” Executor says. “like I’ve protected you.”

“I…” but he can’t. he can’t. if he can’t protect himself, how can he protect Executor? but Executor’s gaze is piercing, sharp, resolute, inexplicable. so Wander nods, shyly.

because he wants to believe Executor. he wants to believe in himself.

“I’ll-- I’ll try.”

Executor closes his eyes, comes to rest his head against Wander’s shoulder. “good enough.”

he shouldn’t. selfishly, Wander allows himself to stay. but he knows he shouldn’t. he knows a fallen celestial like him has no place next to a true celestial like Executor.

but if this corrupted, broken presence is what Executor wants, then who is Wander to deny him?  



	90. 103; (angel!au) executor > arme / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angel!au (please read these first!)
> 
> chapter 1. [48](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/158354274395/48)  
> chapter 2. [65](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159679304884/65-12) / [66](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159754808691/66-22)  
> chapter 3. [94](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163214593556/94-12) / [95](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163328207104/95-22)  
> chapter 4. [96](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163488013177/96)  
> chapter 5. 103
> 
> 103; Lofty Executor > Arme Thaumaturgy, Lofty Wanderer (+ npcs)
> 
> (angel!au) angels were made to be weapons.

that’s how he understands it. they are to feel no emotion, no remorse, no sympathy. no guilt, no regret. years of training instilled into him this belief. angels need only to obey the words of their master. they were created to be weapons and their master has no need for the weak.

so why, he thinks, do they allow _him_ to exist?

him– who he knows only by the letter taped next to his on the door, _Y_. the only other angel of his class whose existence he’s aware of. Y, who trembles under the blankets in the corner of his bunk since they met. Y, who flinches every time the door opens for him. Y, who sobs quietly during the night when he thinks X is asleep.

but X can’t sleep. X tosses his covers off of himself and swings himself off the top bunk, landing silently on the ground. from the corner of his bed, Y turns those startled green eyes toward him. in them, there’s pain. and there’s fear.

“stop crying,” X says. it comes out harsh, forceful, and it makes Y duck his head and stifle his tears. X frowns. that’s not what he wanted to do. but none of his training taught him how to handle this.

Y squeaks when X crawls onto the bed and kneels in front of him. Y clutches his left arm, hides it under the blanket. as if X will pull him out by his arm like he’s seen them do.

“why are you like this?” X asks, his gaze roving Y’s frail form critically.

Y swallows nervously, before casting his eyes to the sheets. his eyes water before he chokes out, “because they… do things. to make me stronger.”

it’s the first time X has heard his voice and it’s brittle, like the rest of him. Y continues, “but it doesn’t work. it… only hurts.”

“what hurts?” he’s direct, and Y jumps when he finally notices X leaning into his space. “right now, what hurts?”

Y backs away, looking down at the sheets. “um… my arm…“

X rips the blankets away, looks at the loose bandages on Y’s arm. the skin he can see is blotched black. he presses onto the darkness with a finger and Y whimpers, crumpling in pain.

X lets go. “can I do anything?”

Y looks up. he’s surprised. then he looks down, gives X a limp half-shrug. “nothing they’ve done can fix me so…”

X frowns. if they can’t fix him, then why make Y suffer? why are they trying to fix something that’s broken? X doesn’t understand. if an angel is weak and useless, then they should be discarded.

“can you… stay here like this?”

X blinks. Y retreats into himself again, pulling the blanket over his head. trembles, intermittently.

X is confused. a part of him knows he’s not supposed to feel any emotion. but a part of him rises up, imbued with a strange determination. X pushes aside his hesitation and asks, “will it help?”

Y inclines his head just slightly, hesitantly. X pulls at the sheets around them, tucks his legs under the covers. Y moves toward him, his shoulder just barely touching X’s. X lets him stay, observes Y’s soft, stuttered breathing in silence.

Y isn’t crying anymore.

-

angels were made to be weapons.

that’s the thought running constantly through his mind. but he questions it now, always. every day, when he sees Y return to their room, more scars and sores peppering his body. every day, when he returns from training to see Y curled in the corner of his bed, convulsing with pain. every day, when it doesn’t get better and only gets worse.

“does it help?” he asks Y every time and Y will nod silently, curling up at his side, to take the only thing X can offer. tears roll down his cheeks, but Y does not make a sound. even though the pain seems insurmountable, unending.

it is when Y bleeds a deep blue from his eyes, when he can’t stop sobbing even in front of X, that the feeling that laid dormant inside of him finally explodes.

X doesn’t realize he has slammed Y’s trainer against the wall, seized the man’s neck with his bare fingers, until an array of guns lock onto him. X looks at each and every one of them; the men are all armed, shielded, impossible to take on alone. his gaze turns to ice, but he relinquishes his grip, lets the man to stagger behind the line of fire.

X takes his punishment. it’s still less than the pain Y endures. he’s forced to run until his legs are numb, forced to train until his muscles burn, forced to listen as they lecture him about a new emotion angels should not feel.

anger.

when he’s finally allowed to return to his room, Y is staring distantly at the opposite wall, those poisoned tears leaking from his empty green eyes. X takes off his shoes, climbs onto the bed to sit next to him, silent.

there’s a feeling bubbling up inside of him, threatening to escape.

X bottles it up.

-

one day, when X returns from training, Y isn’t there. he isn’t there when dinner is served, isn’t there when X wakes in the morning. out on the training field, X would look at the other trainees, hoping naively that he could find Y’s messy gray hair or his familiar green eyes.

the day they hand X his new orders is the day X accepts that Y is gone.

he supposes it was inevitable. Y was weak, tortured by pain. they had no need for an angel like him. it was better to discard him. to save them the time. to save Y the pain.

so why did he ever believe he could make a difference?

X looks at his papers, which designated him as an official member of Elia’s secret task force. the culmination of his training, the reason for his existence– it is written on this paper. it’s hollow, the empty feeling in his heart. he understands now. angels are not to feel emotion. no happiness, no pride, no satisfaction. no pity, no guilt, no sadness.

no anger.

because an angel like him was made to be a weapon.

—

–

-

his name is Executor.

he doesn’t take the name so much as he was given it. impeccable, infallible performance, no matter the task he was given, no matter the mission he was assigned. every shot he fired hit, every mark he made killed. everything he did was executed the only way he knew how: flawlessly.

imperfection was unacceptable; failure was out of the question.

the other agents would joke that Executor was practically made for his job.

and he’d only look at them, his eyes ice blue with lofty dismissal, and answer that he was.

-

Executor stands in front of the array of guns he’s set upon the table. Vanessa, his division leader, picks up each of them one by one, grimacing as pieces fall from them and onto the metal surface.

“you have to stop doing this, kiddo,” Vanessa sighs, replacing the last gun onto the table. “I can’t keep making excuses for you.”

his expression is impassive. “then tell them to stop making terrible weapons.”

Vanessa fires back, “or you can stop using your guns for melee.”

he glances away, fiddles with the single button on the cuff of his suit.

“in any case, I relayed your request to the higher ups,” Vanessa says. “Hanna volunteered to work with you. maybe she’ll make you weapons you can’t break.”

“Hanna,” Executor says thoughtfully. “the blacksmith. she made a knife for me before.”

“they’re impressed with your performance, so they’re making an exception for you.” when Executor turns to look at her, Vanessa reaches over to take his shoulder in hand. “you did a good job, kiddo.”

he stiffens at the touch, answers sharply, “when do I not?”

Vanessa squeezes his shoulder firmly, before finally letting go. Executor relaxes, as she crosses her arms in front of her. “you’ve always done well. just thought I’d tell you for once.”

Executor doesn’t answer immediately, curls his fingers restlessly around his sleeve. “… thank you.”

-

Executor works quietly, perched on the stool in the blacksmith’s workroom. in front of him lay a rough draft of a blade, sketched neatly. on the table too are old, yellowed papers, covered by meticulous penmanship. his own is shaky, rough scribbles. he’s more accustomed to holding a knife than a pen.

“you’re picking it up well,” Hanna says with a smile, peering over his shoulder at the designs. “though we might not be able to duplicate her design perfectly. we have the shape, but the material she used was a family secret.”

“that’s fine,” Executor says bluntly. “I’ll handle it.”

“I see,” Hanna answers, her lips curving in amusement. “you’re more similar to her than you think.”

Executor gives her a blank blink, only to see her chuckle. he gazes down, rubs his arm absently.

Hanna kindly explains, “you know, your eyes. Harnier had deep blue eyes. the kind that pierced straight into your soul, seemed to hide something. ones that seemed… burdened. that sort of look is hard to forget.”

Executor doesn’t say anything for awhile. “… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“it’s alright,” Hanna smiles. “you’re still very young. I remember the first day Harnier joined me in this very room– she was the same age as you back then. she was so excited, to finally have the resources to practice her family’s craft. so I’m glad you’re picking it up too. I’m only sorry I can’t guide you more.”

Executor shakes his head. “it’s enough, thank you.”

Hanna places a hand on his head, brushing the gray strands away from his blue eyes. there’s a strange emotion in her eyes, one that he can’t place, one that he can’t understand.

“I think she’d be happy, if she could see how much you’ve grown.”

-

he doesn’t remember much of her.

his memory before his years of training was immature, unformed. angels like him were thrust suddenly into consciousness and told only to obey. they were not to question the meaning of their existence or the purpose of their creation.

he remembers the weapons she created. the way the glass chipped her fingers, spidered red into the glass. the way he once took a shard and let his hand bleed. the way she wrapped it, carefully, and told him to be careful.

he remembers wondering why her blood ran red and his ran blue.

he remembers the rain falling when she kneels at the doorstep. he remembers her blue eyes, her smile. he remembers the touch of her hand against his head, before it was gone.

he remembers her tears one day when he approaches her. he remembers her voice breaking as she hugs him in her arms.

_“I won’t let them turn you into a weapon… I won’t let them make you kill…”_

he didn’t know the meaning of those words then. but he knows them now. and now, he understands the sorrow behind her words.

even so… even so.

-

_“_ Executor. _a name befitting a being like yourself.”_

the handle of the crystal blade is cool in his grip. usable, yet unrefined still, it bruises against his own hand.

_“it’s not surprising. you are cold, methodical, emotionless. you are everything you were trained to be. it is unfortunate than you are the only one to survive.”_

sparkling red droplets cling onto the edge of the crystal glass. struggling gasps cut through the silence in the dim room. he wipes his blade clean against his pants, before tucking it into his pocket.

_“_ Elia _– no. the_ Velder Kingdom _deserves a new M. one who will not make the same mistakes, who will bring this kingdom to a new era. I look forward to the day I can name my successor. because more than any other, you were trained to become the perfect M.”_

he leaves the room, his thoughts a quiet requiem in his mind.

_“humans are fools to imitate gods. fools to believe that gods can end what humanity started.”_

_-_

his heart beats steadily, as he steps outside. he spent so much of his time hidden from this world, it’s strange to be here, standing in the sunlight.

he wonders what this could be considered.

reckoning or redemption?

it’s been so long that he no longer feels it’s either. he feels neither the sadness nor the rage that drove him to this point. only emptiness.

_“_ Ishmael _has officially resigned from the project. However, we discovered that she attempted to smuggle out the intelligence and the weapons she created. We were able to locate two of them and have retrieved them for Elia’s purposes._

_For our purposes, they will be identified as X and Y._ Ishmael _has been reprimanded and dealt with accordingly.”_

he looks at one of his glass knives. sharp as steel, unbreakable, it was formed from _angel’s glass_ , the material created from the chemical called _angel’s blood_. a traceless and undetectable poison, _angel’s blood_ dissolves on contact with human blood, disappears with time.

it’s the same chemical that flows through his veins, created through a technique passed down from generation to generation. recreated for _Elia_ by their former weapon maker, _Ishmael_. Harnier Thaumaturgy.

the one who created him.

_“It appears that not all human drugs translate perfectly to these human-like weapons. Y is exhibiting negative reactions to stimulants that typically enhance a human’s performance._

_We determined that X remain the control. Any and all new contrived trials should go through Y first. Please receive [redacted]’s approval before performing any trial on Y.”_

a few men, all dressed in black suits and black ties, leave a car and enter the building he left. he only stands there, hands tucked into his white hoodie, eyes gazing at the street before him.

_“We were too shortsighted to realize that while class_ Ain _angels are pain-tolerant, they will still feel pain. Y’s condition has rapidly deteriorated due to our oversight. [redacted] approved of far too many unreviewed trials on Y. We will take steps to remedy this immediately. [redacted] has been reprimanded and dealt with accordingly._

_Until we find a solution, we have decided to place Y with X. We hope morale will improve his condition.”_

a few melodic beeps, the sound of messages. a few men and women around him, out on their lunch break, take out their phones, looks at it in confusion, before it slowly transforms into disbelief.

he looks at his own, an _Elia_ -assigned black device. his clothes were kindly bought by Hanna, using the allowance _Elia_ allotted him. his identity, too, as _Executor_ , is one that _Elia_ has given him.

_Elia_ , the shadow behind the government. _Elia_ , which created him and gave him this empty life.

_“We have come to the conclusion that despite his fortitude and perseverance thus far, Y cannot be salvaged. We will take proper precautions to dispose of the angel.”_

his phone lights up with a call. he stares at it blankly, reading the name twice before clicking on it to answer.

“hey, kiddo.” it’s Vanessa. “are you in the city today?”

“I am.”

“be careful. I have no authorization to relay the news, but the journalists are going to catch wind of this sooner or later. M is dead.”

he responds with silence, because that is the response she expects.

“we’re still piecing together what happened. we have no evidence yet; the perpetrator might still be on the grounds. the emergency force has been deployed to search for them. I took a minute from the meeting to tell you this, but it’s starting to look like _Elia_ will be dissolved if Penensio refuses to take the position. do you know where my apartment is?”

he blinks at her sudden question. Vanessa has taken him there once when his division mates had gotten him too drunk for him to make it back safely to his dorm. “yes, why?”

“because I’m worried about you, kid. you don’t have any family and you’ve spent your whole life at _Elia_. think you can come over, Executor?”

he stills.

“…. please don’t call me Executor.”

“sorry, kiddo, I don’t know another name for you. so will you be there or not?”

he fingers the glass daggers he has hidden in the front pocket of his hoodie. but Vanessa is right. he has nowhere to go if _Elia_ is gone.

“I will.”

“good. it’ll be another hour or so before they let me go. take care of yourself until then, kiddo.”

he hangs up, stares into the sky, bright blue. along the streets, people talk, laugh, as if nothing has happened. the fall of _Elia_ is a quiet affair, like the fading of shadows.

he gazes at his hand, calloused white from years of training. it shakes in beat with his heart. there’s a feeling inside of him, an emotion that he has never felt before.

but angels are to feel no emotion. no pride, no satisfaction. no sympathy, no remorse. no guilt, no sadness. no anger.

no fear.

he was made to be a weapon.

so why did he ever think he could be human?

-

_“Due to unforeseen circumstances, we have decided to suspend_ Project Angel _indefinitely.”_

—

–

-

his name is Arme Thaumaturgy.

he’s the head of the upstart weapons technology company by the same name. a small company that started working out of a small industrial warehouse, it’s grown to encompass the southeastern section of Velder’s business-industrial district.

as lead designer, he’s capable of wielding any of the weapons the company produces, testing and demonstrating all prototypes. as president, he’s the first point of contact with every new client, every new weapon distributor or purchaser. and as the visible face of the company, he’s the most obvious target for those itching for power.

it’s nothing he can’t handle himself, though Vanessa still wants to assign one of her trainee bodyguards to him. he leaves the blade in the man’s chest and sits against his desk, as the assailant twitches, collapses into the floor. the man’s breaths are short and he struggles, like he’s inhaling water.

it’s only a matter of time.

Arme’s blank blue eyes fix onto the bullet embedded into his desk. he stops spinning the gun around his finger, before unloading the bullets into his hand. the man only breathes, crumpling to the ground in strain.

there’s no point questioning low hanging fruit. this man was messy, unprofessional; whoever sent him most likely picked the nearest street thug and offered them money. looks the part too. Arme pulls his tools close to him, starts disassembling the gun. if he’s right, the maker will tell him what he needs to know.

Swordsmith. the primary weaponsmith located in Elder, the largest city in Florensia. their strength is in mass production, so their price and quality is reasonable for the average man. and the cheapskate.

he sighs and pulls out a vial from his suit pocket. he rips the thin blade from the man’s chest and pours the contents of the vial into the wound. as the man’s rasps slow, Arme searches the man’s body, removing all manners of knives and weapons. he finds a suitably sharp knife and puts it up against the man’s neck.

“you’re not dying anymore,” Arme says, roughly pulling the man to stand, pushing him toward the door. “everyone in this building is more than capable of sending you to your death. do not test my mercy.”

Arme lets go and the man clutches at the strange scar in his chest, staggers forward into the hall.

“inform Wally I will not tolerate another attempt on my life. I will end the next person he sends.”

the man nods shakily and the door closes behind him.

Arme sends out a company-wide alert, informing them that there is a bulky, scarred, tanned man that will be exiting the building and to be wary of any sudden, desperate moves. a beep when Vanessa texts him to insist that he accept a bodyguard, and he shifts his gaze to the building plans on his desk, rubbing the hole in his shoulder from where the man had shot him. when he looks at his fingers, his blood, black-blue, dries on his skin.

[No one can kill me, Vanessa.]

it’s not a lie. the attempts are more tiresome than legitimately threatening. Arme looks out the broken window, watches as the cracked glass vibrate in the high winds. he’ll have to call the repairman again this month. the high-security sector of _Arme Thaumaturgy_ cannot be finished quickly enough.

[Is that arrogance that I’m reading, kiddo?]

Arme looks at his phone, wondering if he should ask her what arrogance even is. he decides against it; he knows he’s not capable of feeling arrogant.

[It’s the truth.]

after all, he is an angel. and angels were made to be weapons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _angel!au_ (finally):
> 
> _angels_. synthesized beings created to be perfect and obedient weapons. designed to have no emotions or moral code. subservient to the will of their superiors. but no one claimed _Project Angel_ to be a success.
> 
> _Arme_ was one of the last angels _Elia_ saw to maturity. as the creator of class _Ain_ angels, Harnier “Ishmael” Thaumaturgy created  _angel’s blood_ , a chemical lethal to humans, and used it to infuse her angels with strength and life. this same chemical is the basis of the _angel weapons_ that _Arme Thaumaturgy_ is now famous for.
> 
> with the dissolution of _Elia_ , Executor adopted Harnier’s last name and the name _Arme_ , dyeing his hair bright blue and fully abandoning his previous identity as _Executor_. he worked with Hanna and the alchemist, Grail, to refine the formula for the _angel_ weapons, soon founding the company _Arme Thaumaturgy_. it quickly became known as one of the kingdom’s foremost weapon manufacturers and Arme himself earned a reputation for his strange propensity to spare those who try to kill him.
> 
> due to the classified nature of _Project Angel_ within even _Elia_ itself, very few know that angels exist. even fewer know of Arme’s true identity. Luto is one of the few– and of course, Apos, too.
> 
> as for _Harnier_ , no one knows what happened to her. she disappeared after she resigned from the project; most assume she’s dead.
> 
> _Vanessa_ was the head of Executor’s division. she was in charge of his training, assignments, and equipment, the one who was responsible for him as an agent of _Elia_. her direct superior was Penensio, who stepped down after M was killed.
> 
> _Hanna_ was one of Elia’s weaponsmiths; her job was to make weapons for _Elia’s_ agents. initially charged to make custom weapons for Executor, she decided instead to teach him everything she knew about weapon craft, realizing quickly that he had an interest and knack for it.
> 
> the _M_ is the Minister of the intelligence agency, _Elia_. to the public, the Minister is considered an administrative position, routinely appointed by the Council. internally, the M is the mind behind the agency, with access and control to all classified intelligence and operations. _Elia_ is considered the shadow of the government; the M is considered the most powerful person in the world.
> 
> the previous M held the position for over forty years, through the war between the kingdoms. a man with aspirations and regrets, he wished to create a weapon to finally end all wars. with the ancient knowledge of synthesized angels in hand, he oversaw _Elia_ ’s last iteration of _Project Angel_ , culminating in the creation of the class _Ain_ angels.


	91. 104; (angel!au) executor / wander > apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angel!au (please read these first!)
> 
> chapter 1. [48](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/158354274395/48)  
> chapter 2. [65](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159679304884/65-12) / [66](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/159754808691/66-22)  
> chapter 3. [94](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163214593556/94-12) / [95](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163328207104/95-22)  
> chapter 4. [96](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/163488013177/96)  
> chapter 5. [103](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/165688959332/103)  
> chapter 6. 104
> 
> 104; Lofty Wanderer > Apostasia, Lofty Executor (+npcs)
> 
> (angel!au: angels were made to be weapons.) weapons were made to kill.

he lives his life in shattered memories.

-

angels were created to be perfect.

that’s how he understood it. they were to be flawless in the eyes of their creator, obedient weapons at their master’s disposal. feeling no emotion, knowing no pain, angels exist only to follow their master’s commands.

so why… why does he exist?

why does he feel this terrible pain? why has he not already been discarded? why is he– if he is truly one of these angels– so broken, weak, and imperfect?

they call him _Y_. he can’t fight, can’t run. there are days when he can barely stand. he’s become so weak that they’ve decided he can no longer be alone and placed him with the only other angel of his class– X.

X, who is perfect. X, who is everything he is not. a fighter, where he can only hide. strong, where he is only weak. a success, where he is nothing but a failure.

the pain that gnaws in his left arm, slices into his core, spreads throughout his body– it never ends.

he feels cold. very, very cold.

a blanket is tossed over his head. he blinks, still trembling he looks past the blanket to see X turn off the lights and climb up to his bunk. Y lowers his eyes to the sheets, tugs the blanket protectively over his head. looks at his hands, at the fingers on his left hand that isn’t blotched with darkness yet.

if there is hope, if there is a purpose for him still, if–

a sigh, and he almost starts. he hadn’t realized X had climbed down his bunk again. he feels the blankets shift beside him, a presence coming to rest beside him.

“um–”

through the darkness, he can see those blank blue eyes. he can hear X bringing the blankets around him, around them. he feels a hand cover his own, grasp it tightly, warms up his cold fingers. a warmth too comes to his side and he floats in steady comfort.

“sleep,” comes the simple command.

he closes his eyes, feels the warmth slowly nudge the chill away.

he wishes. he hopes. but angels do not have wants.

if there is a god, then he prays–

please, at least, let him have this.

—

–

-

he’s not sure why he’s running. his feet are blistered, his chest aches, but still– still, it does not kill him. not the shot to his heart, not the shot into his throat.

an angel like him should have been destroyed. an angel like him was only a failure. a waste of time, a waste of energy. an angel like him should not have existed.

he doesn’t know what came over him. he doesn’t know why he pushed the gun from his head. he doesn’t know why he ran. there was something he wanted. but angels do not have _wants_.

when he collapses against the ground, his knees splinter. but his legs throb and his head aches.

he doesn’t want to run anymore. – he can’t.

he doesn’t want to exist anymore. – but he _does_.

-

he only knows that he is very tired.

so when they take him, he doesn’t resist. his pain is unceasing, his existence until now only suffering. is there anything worse? is there anything that could be worse?

they give him a name. _Wanderer_. though this hollow shell does not deserve a name.

his blood flows like hot liquid in his veins. it incinerates him from the inside, and he screams again, though his voice is gone. his fingers clench, but his arms are immobile, held fast.

the pain does not end.

the world is blurs but he feels liquid drip like blood from his eyes. the fire burns through him, cleansing, purging, and his consciousness slides into darkness again.

-

when he wakes, his vision swims. his body is heavy. limp, weak. but there is no pain anymore. not in his arm, not in his chest. he tries to move his fingers and the sensation comes like phantom needles.

“a type _Seraph_ angel. _Elia_ continues to surprise me.”

a low voice. a good distance away. he gathers himself slowly, feeling the coolness of the sheets under him. it’s not the cold ground he collapsed on, when he fainted from exhaustion and the excruciating pain.

was he saved? is this salvation or is this more suffering?

he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care.

“so _Elia_ gave up on _Nemesis_? that’s a surprise.”

“what I admire the most is _Elia’s_ willingness to admit defeat. _Empress_ was too precocious. _Nemesis_ , too spontaneous. ultimately, what _Elia_ wanted was not a tactician or a soldier, but a weapon. a _Seraph_.”

“it seems like they tried to destroy him.”

“of course. _Elia_ tries to destroy all evidence of their mistakes.”

-

it takes him a few days to realize why he no longer feels pain anymore. he’s nicked himself with one of the knives they gave him and his eyes, still hazy, sees only the dark blue blood dripping onto the bright white floor.

he touches his left hand to the finger. he is shaking. he’s not sure what part of him is shaking: his hands that drop the knife to the floor or his fingers that push into his wound, asking the world for that pain again.

when they wrap up his hand and dismiss him, he curls into his body, draws a blanket over his head. tries to pull at his memories. tries to remember how it feels. how _anything_ feels.

-

the next time he feels his veins light up, he doesn’t scream. he feels the heat course through his body, alive, infuse him with a burning strength, light him with power.

when they untie his arms, they don’t fall limply to his side. he flexes his fingers and he feels more than sees something glow on the back of his hand.

it tingles, strangely.

he feels like he is dead but still alive.

-

he remembers his training he was given. without the pain, it’s much easier now. his hands no longer shake, his lungs no longer protest, his heart no longer stabs him with every step he takes.

he wonders, maybe, as he watches the man cowering before his feet, grasping at the wound in his stomach, if he’s been redeemed.

when he brings still more to their knees, when he brings their best men within inches of their lives, they give him a new name.

_Apostasia_.

-

“this is your first assignment. something simple. just to test your nerve.”

a kind smile, wrinkled with age. deep red eyes pierce into him.

“I’m sure you know why you were created.”

he does. he is an angel, created to be a weapon. it’s the mantra instilled in his mind, it’s the sole reason for his existence. it is the only thing he hasn’t forgotten.

“we are not complex here. angels were made to be weapons. weapons were made to kill. if a weapon becomes incapable of killing, it becomes useless. and you know what happens when something becomes useless.”

it is discarded, like he was. he lifts his eyes to see the same gentle smile on the old man’s face. it sends a shiver through his spine.

“ _Henir_ is not so different from _Elia_ , little _Apostasia_. it would be better if you understood this from the beginning.”

-

in these halls, they let him live. there are no such things as schedules or tests. only assignments that they give him. the first time he strikes to kill, he’s surprised by their struggle, their gasp of pain. so he grabs the man’s head, snaps his neck, lets his life pass quicker.

there’s something that twitches within him as he does it. as if he too wants to feel that desperation for life.

but that’s impossible. angels do not have wants. they only have a purpose.

he’s given a stipend with each assignment. out of legal obligation, they explain, because he’s technically employed by them. though he’s not sure what that means. he leaves his room rarely, because the noises outside are too loud, too irritating. he sleeps sitting up in the corner of his bed, blanket pulled up over his head. still straining to remember what it is that he’s forgotten.

but he exists only to be a weapon. there is no point in remembering.

it is enough to finally be able to fulfill the purpose of his creation.

-

“this assignment is a personal request from me. there is a theory I want to test.”

he lifts his head to see those red eyes pierce him knowingly. it’s a test, a challenge.

he’s handed a few papers and a picture, black and white, of a young man in a suit, sharp eyes looking absently to the side of the shot. there’s something in that gaze that stirs him, but he doesn’t recognize it. still, he holds onto the picture, like it’s the key to a box that has long been closed.

“his name is Arme Thaumaturgy. he is your next target.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angel!au:
> 
> _angels_. synthesized beings created to be perfect and obedient weapons. designed to have no emotions or moral code. subservient to the orders and the will of their superiors. but no one claimed _Project Angel_ to be a success.
> 
> _Apos_ was a class _Ain_ angel, the only type _Seraph_ angels created. in contrast to _Empress_ and _Nemesis_ , type _Seraph_ angels are designed to be human-like weapons, with limited emotional capacity and low self-assertion. class _Ain_ angels have a unique tolerance for injury and it has been hypothesized that they cannot die.
> 
> shortly before her ultimate disappearance, _Ishmael_ attempted to smuggle out her research and succeeded– partly. _Elia_ managed to retrieve her angels but could not recover her research. so they decided to train the angels the same way they trained their type _Nemesis_ angels: through physical trials and chemical enhancements. to account for their lack of data, they kept one angel as the control and subjected the other to tests. the first they called X, the second, Y.
> 
> without _Ishmael’s_ research, the tests quickly turned for the worse. subsequent attempts to “fix” Y resulted in failure. unable to alleviate his suffering, _Elia_ had no choice but to destroy him. but Y managed to escape, wandering the city aimlessly, before _Henir_ took him in and gave him the name, _Wanderer_.
> 
> _Henir_ is an organization that specializes in doing jobs no one else wants to do. it was born out of the shadow of _Elia_ ; many of its members were former _Elia_ affiliates and their intelligence network constantly poached _Elia_ ’s. all agents can be distinguished by their _Henir_ marks, the glowing blue lines running along their veins, the visible side effect of _Henir’s_ signature drug. nicknamed _chaos_ , the drug enhances strength and agility at the cost of self-restraint and inhibitions. eventually, the user will succumb to insanity.
> 
> when they gave it to Wanderer, chaos “healed” him instead. _Apostasia_ was created, a merciless assassin at best, a wildcard at worst, a weapon all the same. the last assignment _Henir_ gave him was to kill _Arme Thaumaturgy_ , in order to rid _Henir_ of a probable threat and also to test a suspected theory. but _Apostasia_ could not kill him.
> 
> perhaps angels truly are impossible to kill.


	92. 105; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 105; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> he doesn’t understand the need for this comfort.

Arme doesn’t remember it often.

he tackles this world day by day, as he should. there’s no need for reflection, no need for regret. in this world that is as real as his own, he doesn’t look back.

he shouldn’t. he can’t.

but in those red eyes, he sees the same fire. in those confident words, he senses the same sincerity. in that blithe smile, he knows, he understands, that this Elsword has the same naivety.

and it frightens him.

but Erblu’s smile is different. it’s softer at the edges, warm. it betrays an understanding far beyond what he shows. Arme forgets, often, that Erblu’s not only human but celestial too. forgets, often, that Erblu sees the world in the same way as he does. that Erblu too has seen the world at its end.

he doesn’t remember it. and he doesn’t decide to.

and yet.

there’s a cool breeze tickling at the blankets covering him. Erblu is nestled beside him, tucked against his chest, and has nudged his face against Arme’s cheek. Erblu’s breath flutters, before unnecessary; now, essential. the closeness steadies him, Erblu’s warmth rocking him gently into rest.

he doesn’t sleep so much as dream.

_“Elsword.”_

_he knows, these are the last words he will have. he knows, it is Elsword who is the one who decides the fate of this world._

_so he says, “regardless of what happens, I trust you.”_

_he does, wholeheartedly. after all, Elsword is one with the El, the decider of this world. Elsword takes a deep breath, before exhaling, lips curving into a smile grateful, assured._

_“thank you, Ain.”_

_this emotion that has plagued him since the dawn of his human existence. this desire that he has long suppressed._

_perhaps he should have tried to understand._

_…_

_there is something amiss._

_in the way the world pulses anew, in the the rumbling of the ancient city, reconstructing before his eyes the splendor of Elrianode. in the way the El appears, fully formed before him._

_he can sense it. he needs no answers._

_Miss Elf catches him before he can leave. “Ain, where are you going?”_

_“to the El,” he says, not meeting her eyes. everything seems distant, hazy. the El is restored and yet, he is still here. he has not yet disappeared._

_the implications unnerve him._

_“I know you’re worried, Ain, but we should go together. you heard too, Master Denif is willing to help us– Ain!”_

_he can go alone. without Elsword, they will forget him anyway. after all, he is a celestial. and celestials are meant to be forgotten._

_…_

_the El rises before him, a towering stone of resonant purity. he raises his hand, feels the power of the goddess flow within him and around him. he reads the memory of the El, lets the landscape of the sky extend out before him. in this echoing silence, he sees an illusion of the past, a dream of Elsword and Solace, standing at the brink of the world._

_“what path will you take to protect Elrios, Elsword? will you allow more to be sacrificed to the El?”_

_to restore the El was the mission he was given. to restore the El was Elsword’s singular goal. to restore the El…_

_“Solace, you said I’m connected to the power of El. that means I should have the power to do something about it, right? then… this is my choice!”_

_no!_

_but his voice doesn’t come out. he realizes now. in this hollow of a memory, his form is only light, a helpless sparkle in this dream. he couldn’t stop Elsword before, he can’t stop him now– he can’t stop what has already come to pass._

_then why does he–_

_want?_

_why does he want to stop Elsword? why does he want bring Elsword back? why, when his mission is complete?_

_when did he, a celestial without desires or sense of self, start to_ want _?_

_he turns around to see the rest of the El Search Party. he sees their faces, smiling, trusting, encouraging Elsword. and it was Elsword who painted these images of the ones he called his friends._

_then was he never… ?_

_… no. this is right._

_as a celestial created in the heavens, he never belonged to this world._

“… Arme? is something wrong?”

it’s Erblu again. it is always Erblu now. his voice, his warmth, is always present while he rests. but he can’t accept it. this world is not his. so he tries to pull himself away, disentangle himself from the sheets.

“it’s okay, Arme.”

careful arms come around him, embraces him. he doesn’t understand the need for this comfort.

“you can cry.”

he doesn’t need to. he is a celestial. celestials do not cry. but when he opens his mouth to answer, he can’t form his words. his voice chokes in his throat.

Erblu rubs his back gently. his voice is a lilting hum. “I mean, if you need to, Arme. you can cry.”

Arme lowers his head silently, feels his eyes moisten. his hand grasps Erblu’s arm idly, and then clenches Erblu’s sleeve into his hand.

“why… why would I need to?”

he doesn’t expect an answer, but Erblu gives it to him.

“do you think I don’t understand?” Erblu asks, gently. his gaze is wistful, distant. “I have the same dreams, Arme.”

Arme looks away. “celestials do not have dreams.”

“celestials don’t.” and Erblu smiles a little, that same soft smile. “but humans do.”


	93. 106; executor / anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 106; Lofty Executor / Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> (highschool!au) they meet up at the local amusement park.

Wander tries to be on time. but between his aunt fussing over his scarf, missing the bus he was supposed to catch, and getting stuck in the morning crowd huddled at the entrance, it takes little while for him to finally find the booth Anpassen was talking about.

“so… when are you going to give up, Anpassen?”

“I won’t, I’m going to get it, Excie, if it’s the last thing I do.”

a familiar sigh. “here, let me try.”

when Wander rounds the corner, Excie’s holding a plastic gun up to the rows of prizes, squinting his left eye shut, focused. Anpassen is standing next to him, his arms crossed, pouting, until he notices Wander approaching them.

“oh, Wander, you’re finally here!” Anpassen radiates happiness. “I thought you’d never make it!”

Wander starts a little as Anpassen secures his wrist, gives him a large grin. Wander almost pulls his hand away. “I’m… I’m not that late, am I? I thought we were meeting up at ten.”

“we were. we are,” Anpassen glows. “it is ten.”

Wander relaxes a little bit, opens his hand to take Anpassen’s shyly. he relishes it, that touch, when he hears a _fwump_. Anpassen gasps, lets go of him, and starts clapping enthusiastically, as Excie sets the toy gun down.

“I knew you could do it, Excie!”

“you’re on time, Wander,” Excie rolls his shoulder, not looking at either of them. “Anpassen was twenty minutes early.”

“I was excited, okay!”

Excie shrugs, takes the plush doll from the booth attendant. he hands it to Anpassen, who holds it up to Wander and wiggles it at him. Wander blinks blankly at him in return.

“here, we got this for you, Wander. or uh, Excie did, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

it’s a plush rabbit doll, with floppy ears. gray. Wander stares at it and Anpassen moves the ears a tad, before he raises it up to Wander’s face, makes it nuzzle his cheek. Wander lowers his face to its head shyly, before Anpassen wraps Wander’s arms around it.

“mission accomplished!” and then Anpassen’s proud smile falters a little. “it’s… not the same as Ishy, but… you know. the closest I could get.”

“it’s fine,” Wander says quietly. “thank you, Anpassen. and– Excie, thank you too.”

“it was nothing. Anpassen spent forty elrios getting it,” Excie observes wryly.

“Excie, _why_.”

“so you can tell your brother where your allowance went later.”

“it’s for a good cause! making Wander happy is a good cause.”

“uh huh.”

Wander holds the plush tightly to himself, as Excie traces his cool gaze over to him and reaches out to place his hand on the rabbit’s head. Anpassen watches them both, smiling proudly.

suddenly, Excie declares, “I want one too.”

Wander starts. “oh, um. if you want, Excie, you can have this one–”

but Excie has already turned around, picks up the gun again to wave it aggressively at the booth attendant.

Wander looks at Anpassen, who only smiles at him sheepishly and takes Wander’s wrist again, curling his fingers around Wander’s. they’re warm, as usual, and Wander squeezes his hand tightly in return.

“after this, I’ll bring you to the new ice cream booth they opened.” Anpassen winks at him and Wander can feel a fluttering feeling in his heart. “they have some really cool flavors for the season, like pumpkin pie and cheesecake, and–”

“it’s too cold for ice cream,” Excie interjects bluntly.

Anpassen shoots him a look. “could you not ruin the mood for once, Excie?”

the booth attendant hands him another gray bunny and Excie walks over to them both, nudging his bunny gently into Wander’s plush. Wander nudges it back, smiles, a little, happily. 

after a long moment of mutual silence, Excie comments, “I really don’t know what you mean by this ‘date’, Anpassen. I thought dates were supposed to be between two people.”

“I know,” Anpassen says, taking Excie’s hand with his free one. Excie only stares at their hands in confusion. “but we’re going to make it work somehow.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _highschool!au_ (feat. lofties; parallel with second job’s college!au)
> 
> the second jobs are the their older brothers, in college. 
> 
> Executor is _Excie_. it’s a modern au, so I tweaked his name a little. takes after his older brother, Arme, in behavior and attitude (read: they’re both perfectionist workaholics). resents being compared to his brother, but also admires him a lot. excels in all his classes, insists on zero fun, until Anpassen started inviting him out for after school activities. is unusually good at arcade games.
> 
> Anpassen is Erblu’s younger brother. he likes slacking off a lot, going to arcades, watching movies with friends, because interpersonal relationships are the most important thing! he has a massive crush on Executor and has actually confessed to him before. Executor just assumed the confession was a promise of friendship and was generally okay with it. maybe someday Executor will understand.
> 
> Wander is Apos’s younger brother. gets teased a lot by Apos himself, so Wander’s unusually self-conscious. has a hopeless sense of direction and streaks of bad luck. he had a precious plush rabbit that Apos gave to him when he was younger, named Ishy, but he ended up losing it. enjoys hanging around Anpassen, because he likes how Anpassen makes him feel.  
> 


	94. 107; (lacrimosa: vampire!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 107; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> ( _lacrimosa_ : vampire!au) all souls deserve rest.
> 
> _submission to_ : [elsword halloween x mafia collaboration project](https://elscollabproject.wixsite.com/halloween-mafia) | [lacrimosa](https://elscollabproject.wixsite.com/halloween-mafia/sonne)  
>  _inspiration_ : [Lacrimosa (III. Sequentia) from Mozart's Requiem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JE2muDZksP4)

†

crackling leaves drown the stone staircase in brown husks. autumn chill seeps in through the frosted windows. flickering candles greet its guests with its haunted vigil.

_Lacrimosa_ _dies illa_

beside the altar, the choir sings, white gowns like an audience of angels, their sorrowful laments resounding in the hallowed hall. in the pews stand men in their best sundays and women in their thickest veils, all masquerading mourners, all sorry sinners.

_Qua resurget ex favilla_

at the center, bathed peach rose by the light of the stained glass windows, lay an open coffin, adorned with white carnations, embellished by white lillies. before it, the priest prays, head bowed into his folded hands. behind him, the acolytes behold their candles stoically.

_Judicandus homo reus_

in the front row stands a young man, green eyes aglow like the spring, face bearing only reserved serenity. the silent wind tugs at his light gray hair, brushes cool against his face, and he closes his eyes, whispers too the choir’s refrain.

_Lacrimosa_ _dies illa_

in this world of black and white, a small crimson butterfly floats in through the gap in the vaulted ceiling, flutters through the dusty sunlight onto the edge of the coffin.

the sound of the organ slows in the hollow of the grand cathedral. the congregation lifts their heads as the priest starts to walk down the aisle, chanting the rite of consecration. all stand, all turn, some follow, some do not, and when the organ finally stops, the whispering starts.

“poor old Count. did you hear how they found him? dead at the edge of the forest right outside his manor. pale as a sheet, lying in a pool of his own blood...”

“oh my, did you mean, it was… why have they not caught them yet? every week there is another dead. anyone could be next... ”

“at the very least, the Lord’s son took care of his burial, but ever since the Countess disappeared… I’m ever grateful to young master Erbluhen for arranging this service.”

“he is a kind darling, that one, and he knew little of the Count too. I cannot imagine what would have happened had the Count not have a proper memorial.”

“Erbluhen, may I have a word with you?”

Erbluhen opens his eyes to see an old woman gazing worried at him. he smiles calmly at her in return, as she takes his hands firmly into her wrinkled ones. a young boy stands next to her, bouncing restlessly on his heels.

“bless your soul, dear. we need more good young men in this dreary little town,” she says, her voice hoarse with age. she pats his hand, grip shaking with every word. “fear has taken over this lot and fear leads them astray. do not let it take a hold of you too.”

“of course,” Erbluhen answers. he offers her a reassuring smile, gripping her hands tightly. “take care of yourself and your grandson, madam. do not go out at night unnecessarily and do not let the children outside to play.”

the old woman nods in agreement. “of course, of course. prevention is indeed the best medicine. right, boy?”

Erbluhen smiles as the young boy rolls his eyes, and eventually they too walk out of the cathedral. as the hall empties, his smile fades, and he walks slowly to stand before the open coffin. he gazes into where the pale white corpse lays, green eyes muted, expression distant. the crimson butterfly meanders toward him, perches upon his shoulder.

when the cathedral is empty but for him and the deceased, he raises his hand to his lips, bites down his lip until it bleeds. he wipes the trickling blood with his thumb, reaches into the coffin to draw a bloody sigil onto the corpse’s clasped white hands. solemnly, he whispers the words of the hymn again.

_Dona eis requiem_

the body disintegrates into a plume of crimson butterflies.

†

_yellow carnations bloom along the side of the cracked chapel walls. grass sway in tall stalks at the edge of the forest, gleam with dew in the brilliant sunlight. singing like the fairies’ ides tinkle with the rustling leaves._

Qua resurget ex favilla

_in the abandoned chapel, it is only cold darkness. the rags he wears, riddled thin with holes and tears, shiver with his trembling body. the song filters in through the window like hope and salvation and the old bandages fall loose around his head when he lifts his face to listen._

Judicandus homo reus

_“Pastor…?”_

_when the oak doors of the chapel groan open, a flush of crimson butterflies blow past him with the wake of the wind. his eyes struggle to adjust to the brightness, but when he opens his eyes, he sees a young boy sitting in a field of flowers, humming gently a solemn melody._

_“ah, hello.” a smile. “I didn’t know someone else was here in the chapel.”_

_“um, you-- you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says, lowering his gaze. “Pastor told me-- we shouldn’t go outside.”_

_“Pastor? oh! the pastor.” green eyes light up with warmth and the smile the boy offers him is kind. “but the pastor isn’t here right now, is he?”_

_“he--” he shakes his head, glancing nervously into the forest’s edge. the sunlight that touches his skin makes his scars ache anew. “if you stay outside, the vampires will come for you. that’s… that’s what he said. but he hasn’t-- come back...”_

_a thoughtful hum. “... I see. here, let me.”_

_the boy stands up, brushes the grass and crumpled flowers from his clothes, and a crimson butterfly flutters to rest upon his head. his eyes sparkle green like spring leaves and he closes those eyes to sing._

Lacrimosa dies illa

_slowly, each note send ripples of slumber through his bones. slowly, a warmth spreads through him, familiar, like home. slowly, he lets himself fall into the lullaby._

Dona eis requiem

_when the singing stops, he wakes, blinking rapidly, and pushes himself up from the field of carnations. the boy is sitting next to him, lacing yellow flowers together by their stems, humming the song still. he reaches over to tuck the crown of flowers into his messy gray hair._

_“we are safe now.” a soft, serene smile. “for it is time for the souls of the dead to rest.”_

†

crimson butterflies rest like pebbled gemstones upon the stone windowsills. icy darkness blankets leafless branches like a suffocating veil. in the shadow of the forest, eyes glow a haunting red, blink, and disappear into the moonless abyss.

rocks lay scattered about the broken benches, old hymnbooks lay rotting in the pews. alone in the abandoned chapel, he walks to the side of the altar where the lone organ sits, places a hand on the old instrument, lifts the wooden cover to the dusty air.

he sits himself carefully upon the bench and it groans in the stifled silence. he touches the keys one by one and they trill like weak, mournful pleas. he places both hands lightly upon the organ and the organ raises its sound to meet him.

when he plays, so too he sings.

_Huic ergo parce, Deus_

the shadow intercepts the barest light peering through broken glass. the butterflies stir, awakened, glisten like crimson beads against the light. he continues to play, his voice filling the broken sanctum.

_Pie Jesu Domine_

he feels the haze, the chill.

_Dona eis requiem_

he bides his time, each second. he hears the stir, and then the still.

_Amen_

“death by exsanguination,” he says, his voice echoing in the darkness of the chapel. “they found the Count covered in blood, emptied of blood. his throat torn open, eyes sunken white, drained of life, pale with fear. … what other conclusion could they have come to?”

a hand comes around his neck, tilts his head back. a claw creases into his throat, presses into his vein. in the darkness, he sees hollow red eyes, dark. in the silence, he hears his heart beat, steady.

so he closes his eyes, hums. “Apos.”

no answer. then, a quiet whisper, “Erblu.”

“I should teach you this requiem, Apos,” Erblu says, tapping an idle melody onto the keys. “come here, listen.”

Apos loosens his grip, lets his hand fall to his side, but he does not move. “that monster did not deserve your kindness.”

Erblu merely smiles, gentle green eyes flickering deep in the lightless chapel. “all souls deserve rest, Apos. even his. … even ours.”

Apos lifts his head, his gaze hollow, empty. Erblu closes his eyes and starts to sing again, the dirge, the requiem, _lacrimosa_.

†

_Lacrimosa dies illa_  
_Qua resurget ex favilla_  
_Judicandus homo reus._  
_Huic ergo parce, Deus:_  
_Pie Jesu Domine,  
_ _Dona eis requiem. Amen._

†

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vampire!au: lacrimosa_
> 
> vampires. nameless, formless monsters that plague this small town and prey on the blood of humans. few remain who are not weary widows or parentless orphans, few remain who boldly traverse the night. now members of the town’s elite are disappearing, each a rumored victim to the vampires.
> 
>  _Erbluhen_. only Apos calls him Erblu. a young man uncannily talented with both music and the forbidden blood magic. with his blood and the song, _lacrimosa_ , he can transform corpses into crimson butterflies. to the commoners of the town, he is a kind and charitable benefactor; to the elites, he was a gifted orphan who toiled to earn their respect and a place among them.
> 
>  _Apos_. Erblu’s constant companion. he’s a creature of blood, with all the attributes the town ascribes to their vampires. pale, nocturnal, sensitive to light, with eyes that flicker red, he feeds off blood and kills indiscriminately. his only solace is Erblu and Erblu’s song, _lacrimosa_ , is his lullaby.


	95. 108; (lacrimosa: vampire!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 108; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia 
> 
> ( _lacrimosa_ : vampire!au) Erblu sings Apos to sleep.
> 
> _related_ : [107](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/166641477798/107)

when the last note of the organ resonates against the fractured walls, Erblu opens his eyes, his fingers pausing upon the ivory keys. he turns and look up, smiling gently when he sees Apos standing behind him, still.

“Apos, sit down.”

but Apos doesn’t move, even as Erblu reaches up to tickle his arm. Erblu tugs at Apos’s sleeve, before Apos finally relents, falling in silently beside Erblu.

“it is fine, Apos,” Erblu says, brushing Apos’s long hair neatly over his shoulder. “no one dares wander at night. especially not so soon after the vampires’ last mark.”

Apos turns his head to the window, stares at the broken glass gleaming wet in the chilly light. the howling winds of the night subsume the abandoned chapel, beads of crimson butterflies dotting the gray stone. Apos curls his hand into a fist, claws pinching into his palm, but Erblu comes to wrap his arms around Apos’s shoulders and starts to sing.

_Lacrimosa dies illa_

with each word, Apos feels the heaviness in his bones. the sorrowful melody, the solemn oath. slowly, Apos leans into Erblu’s embrace. slowly, he closes his eyes. slowly, he lets the soothing song lull him to sleep.

“rest.” the gentlest of kisses to his brow. “rest, my dear Apos.”

when Apos wakes, he wakes slowly, consciousness like the creeping tendrils of moonlight splashing against the cracked walls. outside, the sky is brightening, pale darkness receding into clouded gray, broken by the stark black branches swaying in the breeze. in the empty chapel, the chill remains, seeped into the hollow stone, the melodic notes of the organ ringing an accompaniment to the morose morning.

“good morning, Apos.”

a cheerful lilt, and Apos lifts his head barely from Erblu’s shoulder. Erblu brushes his hair from his face, tracing his thumb against the scar on his left eye, before leaning in to kiss in. Apos winks his eye closed, but it itches less, a mere remnant of his memories.

Apos moves only to tuck his arms around tighter around Erblu, settles his face into the crook of Erblu’s neck. this close, Erblu’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, a singular comfort, a rhythmic ease. the forsaken stillness of the chapel only serves to amplify his own, as the dust drapes like an itchy cloak, the brightening dawn like pinpricks against his skin.

“don’t return to sleep, Apos. I don’t have your strength.” a chime of a laugh, and fingers move to rub circles into the nape of his neck. Apos doesn’t answer, curling his body stubbornly against Erblu’s. “though I suppose it can’t be helped. it is morning, after all. and you have waited for me long enough.”

Apos looks up. the warm green eyes looking at him are unassuming, smiling. knowing. he looks down again, nuzzles into the collar of Erblu’s shirt.

“only want you,” Apos whispers finally. he nips at the cloth with his teeth. “Erblu.”

“mm, of course, Apos.” Erblu smiles, rubs his head against Apos’s. Apos leans into him in return, before Erblu starts unbuttoning the top of his shirt, pulls aside the cloth covering his neck, pale, scarless, pristine, in spite of it. Apos rests his nose against Erblu’s skin, breathes softly, feels his eyelids drooping again.

“come, Apos.” a hand cradles the back of his neck. “we can sleep when we are home.”

Apos opens his mouth, cuts a sharp fang into the vein in Erblu’s neck, lets it bleed. he laps at the blood, feels its warmth strengthen his body and wash his bones anew. Erblu holds him, stroking his back gently, a distant but soothing touch against his cold body.

when the moon wanes from the sky and the blood trickles to a stop, Erblu lets out a weary sigh. Apos catches Erblu when he crumples, breaths like struggling gasps against Apos’s ear.

“... had enough, Apos?” Erblu’s voice is a bare whisper. 

Apos nods, wraps his arms around Erblu. he nudges his nose into Erblu’s temple. “rest, Erblu.”

Erblu hums, leans in to kiss his cheek.

“home?” Apos prompts. Erblu closes his eyes, nestles into Apos’s arms tiredly.

“mhm.” and Apos stands, lifts Erblu from the bench. Erblu relaxes into him, mumbles absently, “it won’t do if anyone found us here together.”

“it won’t matter,” Apos says, eyes flickering red with emotion. “they all will become nothing, in the end.”

“of course, Apos,” Erblu chuckles, his smile fond. “but at least, let us spare this town a messy massacre.”

Apos stares blankly at him, his fingers curling into Erblu’s arm, lips pulled petulantly in disapproval. but Erblu only smiles, reaches up to touch Apos’s face tenderly.

“I know you’re not fond of games, Apos, but please be patient with me for a little while longer,” Erblu says, brushes his thumb over the scars on Apos’s face. he lets his hand falls to his chest, smiles. a promise. “after all, this is the game they play. and what is a game, if you don’t have some fun?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vampire!au: lacrimosa_
> 
> vampires. nameless, formless monsters that plague this small town and prey on the blood of humans. few remain who are not weary widows or parentless orphans, few remain who boldly traverse the night. now members of the town’s elite are disappearing, each a rumored victim to the vampires.
> 
>  _Erbluhen_. only Apos calls him Erblu. a young man uncannily talented with both music and the forbidden blood magic. with his blood and the song, _lacrimosa_ , he can transform corpses into crimson butterflies. to the commoners of the town, he is a kind and charitable benefactor; to the elites, he was a gifted orphan who toiled to earn their respect and a place among them.
> 
>  _Apos_. Erblu’s constant companion. he’s a creature of blood, with all the attributes the town ascribes to their vampires. pale, nocturnal, sensitive to light, with eyes that flicker red, he feeds off blood and kills indiscriminately. his only solace is Erblu and Erblu’s song, _lacrimosa_ , is his lullaby.


	96. 109; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 109; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> Erblu and Arme experience autumn.

“here, look, Arme, isn’t it amazing?”

there’s an absent look on the other celestial’s face, aloof, disinterested. but that’s how Arme always is; he’s never not an emotionless celestial. Erblu crouches to the ground, gathers a bunch of fallen brown leaves into his arms.

“it’s the cycle of El, the cycle of life,” Arme explains. Erblu can barely hear his words over the crunch of the crackling leaves in his ears. “the time of the year when the world dies and prepares to cycle its energy.”

“humans call it autumn,” Erblu offers brightly. “and the world lights up in such beautiful colors.”

a sparkle of Rein glows behind Erblu as he stands, a few leaves fluttering out of the bundle in his hands. suddenly, he throws the leaves into the air, just as the wind courses along the forest path, batter the trees’ empty branches. the autumn leaves swirl around them and within the flurry, Erblu feels the El infuse him with warmth.

a hand at his back, a careful power that stays his wings. Erblu turns to see Arme pull back his hand slightly, movement measured, almost reluctant.

“don’t get carried away,” Arme says, matter-of-fact. “we’re still in town.”

“ah,” but Erblu smiles, shimmers, and allows another Eid to bloom into being. “of course.”

Arme doesn’t reply, so Erblu continues skipping down the forest path, humming happily as his footsteps splash in the spaces between the piles of fallen leaves. the wind dies down into a cool breeze as they venture further into the forests of Elder.

“have you seen this before, Arme?” Erblu asks, raising a hand to catch a brittle brown leaf. “the autumn, I mean.”

Arme nods. “yes, from the El’s memories.”

Erblu twirls the stem between his fingers. “but in this world?”

“no.”

Erblu glows. “then I’m glad you came here with me.”

Arme shrugs. “you asked me to.”

“I did,” and Erblu smiles, lets the leaf fly freely. “so thank you for joining me.”

Arme blinks, pauses as he does when he’s perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. it took me awhile to understand too,” Erblu admits, his steps slow and light against the pebbled path. “that with this existence, we are able to experience what this world has to offer.”

“we are here to accomplish our mission,” Arme says evenly, but not harshly. his words are soft, forbidding. “nothing more, nothing less.”

“and yet, you still came here with me,” Erblu points out. “even though I’ve taken a different path, even though I’ve strayed from the goddess. you have decided to stay with me. why?”

Arme doesn’t answer. Erblu doesn’t expect one.

“you know, the other day, I realized something. I think, you’ve been around me long enough to notice too, right?” Erblu bounces on his heels idly. “I act differently, around everyone else. I pretend. because I have to pretend to be human; I have to pretend that I’m not anything more than a simple priest. but around you, I can express my true emotions. around you, I don’t feel so alone.”

Arme frowns. “you aren’t alone. you have Elsword and the others.”

“but you’re different,” and Erblu approaches him to take Arme’s hands. Arme lets him, watches as the Eid touch upon their clasped hands. “you are Arme. who you are and what you are is exactly what I want and need.”

Arme remains silent, still, his blank blue eyes fixed upon their hands.

“what do you mean, Erblu? you want to ask,” Erblu says with a chuckle. Arme lifts his eyes when Erblu continues, “celestials have no wants. this world, these humans, this El– we have to put them before ourselves. this is how we exist as celestials. I understand this, just as much as you do; with others, I can’t forget. but with you… with you, Arme, I feel different. like I can allow myself to be human. isn’t it strange? with you, I don’t need to pretend. with you, I am happy.”

Arme only lowers his eyes. a wind blows the gentle leaves across the forest path. the forest that falls in scattering pieces, a world shedding its life in red and orange showers. quiet, calm, tranquil.

“Arme, this emotion that I feel, this emotion that transcends all explanation…” Erblu tightens his grip on Arme’s hands, as if in prayer. his voice is fragile, like hope, “do you feel it too?”

Arme doesn’t answer immediately. Erblu knows– he’s asked for too much. because celestials are not supposed to be human. because Arme is a celestial, through and through. and celestials are not capable of feeling emotion.

but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in those blue eyes– and for Erblu, a ray of hope. and when Arme lets the power of the goddess flow between them, Erblu gives him a bright, encouraging smile.

Arme closes his eyes, finally, answers in a quiet whisper, “yes.”


	97. 110; executor / apos (wander)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 110; Lofty Executor / Apostasia (Lofty Wanderer)
> 
> Executor can’t push Wander away.

it’s difficult to reconcile, hard to ignore. the presence that flakes into brittle chaos, that settles like swollen mist. the hand that touches him like tickling ice, the fingers that bite into his skin. the chill of the void that embraces him, the tightening hold that refuses to release him. a distinct nothingness where there should _be_ , an emptiness that could swallow him, wholly, completely, just as it had done before. 

it won’t, not this time. it doesn’t care to try.

when he opens his eyes, Executor sees the familiar head of gray hair, hears the quiet sounds of breathing. he sees the dark corruption that crept along pale skin until it was perfectly consumed, because the chaos was something that could never be contained, could never be subdued. and yet, when he looks at those closed eyes, he can almost fool himself into believing that perhaps-- perhaps Wander hadn’t succumbed to his chaos.

but he did.

and Executor won’t-- _can’t_ push Wander away.

it is morning in this dim wasteland. Executor shifts, tries to extract himself from Wander’s grasp, to no avail. the movement jostles Wander awake, or as awake as he can seem, his blank eyes opening slowly to gaze at him. it’s different from what Executor is used to-- so unlike the determined, yet frightened, anxious, yet resilient eyes that always looked to him nervously. no, Wander’s green eyes are boring hauntingly into his own. 

“... rested, Executor?”

slow, his hushed words. Executor doesn’t know why his voice has changed too. Wander’s movements are lazier now, more languid, much like the corruption of Henir. or perhaps it does make sense. the power of the goddess gave meaning-- _life_ to the celestials. stripped of her grace, Wander has become a mere shell.

Executor sighs, pulls himself to sit upright.

Wander follows suit, sits up next to him. his long messy hair drapes onto his shoulders, loosely in an attempted braid, his bandages falling carelessly off his head. Executor tried and failed, but Wander didn’t seem to care.

Wander doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore.

Wander tilts his head, skates his corrupted fingers along Executor’s arm, before reaching around him again, locks Executor in his arms.

Executor huffs, tries to push him off, though he doesn’t try hard enough. doesn’t want to. “Wander-- we need to leave this place.”

Wander doesn’t let go, fingers clenching idly. “and go where? there is nowhere for us to go.”

the truth of it stings. the humans-- Executor has pushed away. the goddess-- Wander has abandoned. together, they wander between the worlds, searching futilely for a new reality-- for a new truth. Wander’s already given up, but Executor has not. because Executor can’t fix what is broken if he doesn’t do anything at all.

the scars upon Wander’s face, the broken cracks in his skin, Executor touches upon them gently and Wander hums, closes his eyes. comforted, by the intermittent sparks of the divine power. soothed, by the imperfect strength of a weak celestial. consoled, by the meaninglessness of their existence.

a realization that day by day Executor can’t seem to stop… stop. Executor needs to stop thinking. he needs to start doing _something_.

“Executor…? are you thinking again?” Wander leans into him, rests his forehead against Executor’s temple. at this proximity, his hollow eyes don’t seem to be looking at anything at all. “... you know, it’s pointless.”

Wander was never like this before. Wander always tried-- always sought to return to the goddess again. this-- no, this is still Wander.

“... that’s what you believe,” and Executor raises his hand, catches Wander’s hand in his grasp. fully corrupted, the chill of it burns. “but finding a way to help you isn’t pointless to me.”

Wander doesn’t answer. only curls his fingers around Executor’s. empty green eyes gaze distantly away.

“you are… Executor, after all,” comes the quiet whisper. “your tiny light, shining brightly in the expanse of the void. the strength of your will, radiating singularly… it’s comparable.”

Executor waits but Wander doesn’t give an answer. “... to what?”

“to humans.” Wander closes his eyes, rests against Executor. “small. insignificant. and yet, inextinguishable.”

“what do you mean by that?” Executor asks. “what do you mean by my _will_? celestials are guided by the will of the goddess. and it’s something you were-- _are_ still capable of. Wander, you are still a celestial.”

fingers close down on his arm, a strange chill biting down upon his skin. Wander leans into him, too close, and Executor reaches for Wander’s hand, tries to pull it away.

but the grip is inescapable. the feeling that surrounds him is the same emptiness that consumed Wander. the power that exceeds everything, including the goddess, including the world, including himself. Executor doesn’t want to admit it-- doesn’t want to.

and then, Wander leans in, nudges his lips against space above Executor’s left eye. and Executor feels it flicker alive with the strength of the heavens.

“I _was_ a celestial.” Wander didn’t miss it-- Executor’s mistake. “but am I still the one you knew as Wander? ... I told you, Executor, to call me what I’ve become.”

the deepest and most primal fear within his core.

Wander’s fear. and his own.

 _Apostasia_.

Executor steels his determination, looks directly into Wander’s hollow eyes.

“I won’t. Wander-- I won’t.”


	98. 111; (college!au) erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 111; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia
> 
> (college!au) Erblu and Apos play the pocky game.

the doorknob shakes once, twice. the fiddling of the key, the quiet swing of the door. Apos doesn't pay much attention to it. Erblu texted him earlier, saying he was coming over soon, the entire message punctuated with hearts. typical Erblu stuff.

so Apos lays against the futon, continues staring at the code on his screen. it’s starting to blur again, so he taps a few keys absently, before resting his head against the side of the futon. waits.

when he doesn’t hear anything else, Apos looks up, sees Erblu standing at his side, peering down at his computer curiously. he has his hands tucked behind his back, and he rocks a bit on his heels, before stopping. squints.

“middle of something, Apos?”

Apos blinks. Erblu usually never asks. he closes his laptop. “no.”

Erblu furrows his brow a bit. “didn’t you say one of your assignments was due today?”

“no,” Apos lies. then he amends, “it’s not that important.”

“oh.” but that answer seems to satisfy him enough. there’s a happy sparkle in Erblu’s eyes. “then, we can try--!”

Erblu doesn’t finish his sentence before sliding onto the futon next to Apos. it’s a little cramped, so Apos shifts a bit to the side, leaning over to place his laptop onto the floor. when Apos sits up again, Erblu’s meticulously opening the small red rectangular box, pulling something thin out.

“tada!” Erblu holds up a single chocolate-covered biscuit stick. “pocky!”

Apos blinks.

“so, one of my classmates was talking about this game-- apparently, today’s the special day where people do this? and she gave me this to try it out!” and then, Erblu’s cheeks flush a light pink, and he glances off to the side. “well-- well, it was more like, um, she wanted me to try it with her, but I-- but I uh, well. here, I’ll show you.”

Apos watches Erblu fumble with the biscuit, trying to place the biscuit half in his mouth. he holds onto it, his mouth rounding into a pout, before he finally looks Apos in the eye, his expression suddenly shy, evasive. cute.

ah. he gets it.

“so,” Erblu mumbles, as best he can with the biscuit in his mouth. “you just--”

Erblu doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Apos leans in, takes half off the biscuit in one bite. Erblu blinks rapidly as Apos reaches up to cup his cheek and leans in to bite the rest of the pocky. when Apos pulls away to chew on it thoughtfully Erblu presses a hand on his heart, childlike awe slowly overtaking his expression.

“oh, that was--” Erblu laughs a little, breathless even though nothing happened. “that was interesting.”

Apos brushes the crumbs off his face with his fingers, hums in agreement.

“want to try it too, Apos?”

but Apos grabs his wrist before Erblu can pick up the box again. Erblu turns to look at him, sincerely innocent, blissfully ignorant. impossibly-- cute.

“Apos?”

Apos licks his lips. “wasn’t done.”

Erblu blinks. “eh?”

so Apos leans in, takes Erblu’s mouth. it’s a bit of chocolate, a hint of longing, but all hunger, all desire. Erblu groans, protests muffled, and weakly tries to tug himself away, reluctant though willing. but Apos pries his lips open with his tongue, claims Erblu’s mouth, steals his breath, takes his everything. for a few moments, there’s only short gasps, rasping breaths, struggling moans, until Apos finally pulls away and Erblu melts bonelessly into Apos’s arms, sighing shudderingly.

“mm, Apos…” Erblu flutters his eyes open as Apos presses a gentle kiss to his temple. slowly, slowly collects himself. “that-- that was good.”

Apos hums, reaches over to pick up the box of pocky that’s fallen onto Erblu’s lap. pulls out a biscuit before eating it. and then another. Erblu huffs, tries to reach out to take away the box before Apos can grab another.

“hey, don’t eat them all, Apos! what if I wanted to play the game again?”

“don’t need to,” Apos says and Erblu pouts. but Apos rolls them over on the futon, presses Erblu against the futon. nudges at him gently, even as his voice _smolders_. “don’t need an excuse to kiss you, Erblu.”

“good _god_ , Apos.” but Erblu laughs, brushes Apos’s hair back as Apos nuzzles his forehead into Erblu’s chest. “what am I going to with you?”


	99. 112; (modern!au) arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 112; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> ( _modern!au_ ; Erblu is an idol, Arme’s the president of a company. they’re an odd couple, but they make things work somehow.) Erblu enjoys being an idol; Arme enjoys watching him in his element.

“so there’s a rumor going around, that you’ve started seeing someone. considering that other idols have dropped out due to difficulties and conflicts, do you think this will affect your rankings or your sponsorships?”

Emotion smiles gently. “none of that matters to me. what I want the most is for my fans, my Mochis, to be happy. I hope, through my songs and dances, everyone too can feel the deepness of this emotion. the intensity of this passion, the sincerity of this love. I don’t want fame or fortune. I just want to share my heart with everyone.”

“a poetic statement from the one overflowing with _Emotion_ ,” the woman newscaster says, her smile dimpled pink. “so who is this lucky someone? maybe it’s the rising star, Witch D. or… perhaps one of your former groupmates, Rune?”

Emotion laughs, tucks a strand of hair delicately behind his ear. his cheeks are pink, from the camera light and light embarrassment. “it may not be surprising that I receive many expressions of love and happiness. while I would love to return it twofold, I need to respect those who entrust me with their heart. so I cannot say.”

“I see, I see. but you won’t give us even a hint? let your fans speculate who’s caught your eye?”

and Emotion smiles again, the carefully constructed signature curve in his lips. the camera zooms in as a close up as he places a finger on his lips and winks. “not even a whisper.”

the recording pauses. in the quiet apartment, Arme stares at the mysterious smile blankly. his elusive gaze, his alluring green eyes. the look every Mochi would die to be on the other end of.

it’s not for nothing that _Emotion_ was nominated top male artist of the year. it’s not for nothing that he was the only former member of high school idol group SEARCH to succeed solo. and not for nothing that the idol voted best lover would hide the fact that he is already taken.

well, Erblu doesn’t have to. Arme doesn’t care.

Arme checks the time. it’s half-past six. the dinner reservation has been moved seven, and he’ll probably have to push it back again, if not outright cancel it. he’s tapping out a message on his phone when the door suddenly bursts open.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I got caught up with a signing after an interview and then I had to rush to practice and I lost track of--” Erblu stops stone cold in front of the television. drops his backpack. “ah! what-- is that the interview from this morning? why are you watching that, Arme?”

“because it’s you,” Arme says simply.

Erblu fumbles around the television to find the remote, but to no avail. with a squeak of frustration, he hits the off button, then sighs. he’s untying his scarf when he looks at Arme, who’s reclining against the couch, dressed in a dark business casual, remote in hand.

the screen turns on again. Erblu turns to see the smile and the wink. Erblu grimaces and sighs.

“come on, Arme, I know, I know. it doesn’t seem like me, but trust me, I--”

“I do. I know,” Arme says. “and that’s fine. I’ve said it before.”

Erblu puffs up his cheeks stubbornly. Arme makes to stand up but Erblu tackles him to the couch anyway, wrestles the remote away from him, and turns the television off. he wraps his arms around Arme’s waist tightly, whining quirtly until he finally settles comfortably against Arme’s chest. after a few moments, Arme starts petting his head.

“I’m so tired, Arme,” Erblu mumbles. “I want to sleep.”

Arme hums, runs his fingers through Erblu’s hair gently.

“I love you, Arme.”

“I know.”

“I love you so much, Arme. I wish I could say it to the world. but manager’s orders.” Erblu pouts, wrapping his arms around Arme’s waist. “you got an image to keep, Erblu. you have to remain, at least to the audience, a charismatic single.”

“ _Emotion_ , voted most dateable idol of the year.”

“you know better. I’m the worst boyfriend in the world.”

Arme flattens the stray strand of hair a little. it only pops up, rebellious. “I wouldn’t say that, Erblu.”

“what do you mean? I keep standing you up, I’m always, always late, I forgot to get you a birthday present, I fall asleep on you all the time, I always miss your calls, I never reply to your messages--”

Arme tucks his hand against Erblu’s face, rubs his thumb over his cheek. Erblu shuts up, nudges into his comforting touch.

“I don’t mind. I know what you’re like. it’s not like I’m surprised.”

Erblu sniffs, covers Arme’s hand with his own. “you’re awful at this comfort thing, Arme,” he says, a small smile on his face. “but that’s how you are.”

Arme shrugs. “we all have our vices.”

Erblu snuggles into Arme’s embrace. “wish we could stay here, like this, forever.”

“we have to sleep at some point. and we both have work tomorrow morning.”

“why do you always take me literally?” Erblu laughs. trails his fingers up to Arme’s collar, fiddles with a button. “so what would you do if I said I was hungry? buy me dinner?”

Arme pauses, doesn’t answer. he only reaches for his phone as Erblu stares at him in confusion.

“... Arme?”

“did you still want dinner? I could follow up on the dinner reservation or order delivery.”

“eh? dinner-- what--” Erblu starts. “god, I completely forgot. Arme, why do you let me do this? I was looking forward to having dinner out with you, since you said your friend opened a new restaurant and everything, but a billion things happened and--”

“we can always have dinner out another day,” Arme says, tapping on his phone. “pizza?”

Erblu deflates, defeated. “yea. pizza sounds fine.”

Arme is silent as he taps in his order with his phone. “... it’ll be here in half an hour.”

Arme plucks the remote from between the cushions, turns on the television again, pressing play to continue the interview. Erblu groans, buries his face into Arme’s lap.

“why do you like watching my interviews so much anyway, Arme? it’s just publicity stunts, stuff my manager tells me to do.”

“because,” Arme says. “you enjoy being an idol and I enjoy watching you have fun.”

“... Arme.”

“hm?”

“... nothing.” but Erblu’s hiding his blush in the fabric of Arme’s slacks. “why do you always say these sorts of things?”

without skipping a beat, Arme answers. “because it makes you happy.”

and Erblu laughs. Arme blinks as Erblu leans up to peck him on the cheek, before settling comfortably on his lap again.

“sometimes, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“mm, love me?”

Erblu smiles, bright. “I guess so, huh.”


	100. 113; anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 113; Lofty Anpassen / Lofty Wanderer
> 
> Wander doesn’t sleep. Anpassen tries his best.

Wander doesn’t sleep.

Anpassen’s noticed that. Wander would be awake when he fell asleep and awake when he woke up. noiseless, unmoving, but still trembling, body shaking in fits and starts. every time Anpassen managed to catch him, every time Anpassen managed to drag him back to wherever the Search Party was staying, every time Anpassen would tuck him into bed, Wander would refuse to sleep.

that’s fine. celestials don’t need sleep. Anpassen lets a Rein Eid manifest in his hand and it pulses, a gentle healing aura. Wander doesn’t notice it, curled into himself as he is, knees to his chest, head bowed into his knees.

so Anpassen reaches over, tucks his hand in Wander’s.

Wander starts, pulls back as Anpassen tries to take his hand. Wander instinctively closes his hand. “how-- how long have you been awake?”

“I don’t actually need to sleep, Wander.” Anpassen grins. “did you forget? I’m a celestial too.”

Wander flinches a little. Anpassen blinks, before it dawns on him. of course. Wander believes he isn’t a celestial anymore. just as Wander believes he’s strayed from the goddess.

Anpassen doesn’t understand. a celestial is created a celestial. and the goddess cannot simply be abandoned.

but that’s okay.

Anpassen curls his body around Wander’s upright body, nuzzles his head into Wander’s lap. Wander stiffens, places his hand cautiously at the back of Anpassen’s shirt. Anpassen feels it, a small burn, a chilling realization, and Wander pushes him away.

“... stop. don’t… get too close. it’ll… hurt you.”

Wander’s voice is empty, hollow, but Anpassen can feel the loneliness in his hesitation. slowly, Anpassen reaches up, touches the hand Wander won’t touch him with, and cradles it carefully.

“see? it’s not so bad.” Anpassen dares to say, lifting his lips up. “it doesn’t affect me.”

but it does. Anpassen feels the mark over his eye flare up, so he closes his eyes, lets Wander’s hand go. Wander retracts it and is about to retract into himself when Anpassen props himself up, brings his arms around Wander’s neck, and pulls Wander down onto the bed beside him.

“Anpassen, I--” Wander fidgets, but Anpassen wraps his arms tightly around him, surrounds him physically just as the Rein envelopes them both.

“is it better like this?”

Wander only struggles, tries to push himself away with his uncorrupted hand. the tingling in his left eye strains the power of his Eids, but Anpassen ignores it.

“does it feel better?” Anpassen asks again.

Wander stops moving. “... a little.” it’s a lie, Anpassen can tell, because the shaking in Wander’s shoulders doesn’t cease and the swirling uncertainty around him doesn’t stop. it hasn’t ever stopped.

but even if it’s just a little, even if his tiny Rein pales in comparison to the power of the goddess, if Anpassen could relieve Wander of some of his doubts and worries-- he’ll try.

slowly, Wander settles fitfully into his embrace, his fingers still curling restlessly into Anpassen’s arm. there’s a slumbering gentleness blanketing them, a heightening beat in his chest, a strange determination. it tickles him, as it always does whenever Wander is with him. a feeling he’s come to know, though he understands nothing about it.

“hey, Wander… can I tell you something?”

Wander stills. “... hm?”

“this… this might sound weird,” Anpassen starts. “but there is something I want. I... I want to see you happy. I want to see you smile. it’s like, my own... mission. my own purpose.”

Wander only looks up at him, confusion in his eyes. “... what if I can’t… smile? will… will you fail?”

“no, it’s not like that.” and Anpassen smiles, feels the confidence in his words. reaches over to grasp Wander’s hand. “whether or not you can smile, I’ll still be here for you.”

Wander curls his hand in Anpassen’s loosely. and Anpassen remembers, not what he was told, but what he has come to understand for himself. because the sort of uncertainty and fear in Wander’s eyes is hard for him to ignore. and he knows, they are celestials and emotions don’t come naturally to them.

“... I don’t understand. why would you want to be with me? someone like me… someone…” Wander looks up at Anpassen’s left eye and Anpassen’s smile fades a little. “someone who can hurt you.”

so Anpassen says, “this… this… it doesn’t make sense. I mean, something like this… something that humans have, it _shouldn’t_ make sense. not to us. but that’s the feeling I get. I think.”

Wander lowers his eyes. there’s confusion in his expression, already, a restlessness. “is there something I need to do?”

“nothing, you don’t need to do anything,” and Anpassen lowers his face into Wander’s shoulder. feels the prickling of Wander’s nervous chaos mingle the hum of gentle Rein. “just let me hug you, like this. let me hold you here, like this. even when it gets worse, don’t run away. let me stay with you, Wander, until we figure out how to make this better. let me… let me love you.”


	101. 114; arme (richter) / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 114; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> it’s been a long time since Arme looked, felt, _acted_ human.

it’s a brush of ice, carried along by the wind. the kind of mist that forms late in the fall, scattering and breaking like an early frost, a chill, familiar, thickening in the quiet night.

it’s this that rouses Erblu from sleep in the deep night. he blinks his eyes blearily in the bright darkness, slowly looks up to see a moonlit celestial standing at the open window.

“oh, you’re back late, Arme. I guess, the front door was locked early tonight, huh…”

Arme doesn’t answer. he hasn’t answered to that for a while. it’s meaningless, idle chatter, unnecessary. Erblu sits up from bed, rubs his arm instinctively, feels the power emanating from Arme’s form, dripping like liquid grace. Arme barely breathes, and still, the layers of sheer light behind him rustle like ribbons of tangled light.

Arme casts his blue eyes to the foot of the bed. absent, severe. thoughtful, Erblu can fool himself, but it’s doubtful. because Arme rarely looks him in the eye now.

“come on, Arme, come here.”

Erblu pats the space beside him on the bed. Arme’s gaze shifts toward it, precise. but Arme doesn’t object, approaching him silently, his steps quiet against the wooden floor of the bedroom. when Arme sits down, Erblu reaches over to trace his fingers against those glowing blue strands, tucking them neatly behind his ear. Arme remains still, as Erblu tends to the windswept knots in his long hair. Erblu places his palm against Arme’s cheek, pale white, pure celestial, and turn Arme’s eyes toward him. blank, unfeeling, the depth in his blue eyes far removed.

it’s not like Erblu is surprised.

Arme is, always and forever, the ultimate weapon of the goddess. the first and the last, the beginning and the end. created as a mere emissary of the goddess, but ascended to the ranks of heaven’s highest order. the inquisitor, the judge. a seraphim, a _god_.

it’s been a very long time since Arme looked, felt, _acted_ human.

Arme closes his eyes. the crystal artifacts shimmering in the pale light fade into his clothes again, the room dimming into a bleak midnight. Arme returns to his human form slowly, his long hair receding to drape over his shoulders. but little of what remains is something Erblu would call human.

“… Erblu.”

a stern tone, a firm touch to his side. Erblu smiles, places his hand over Arme’s. it’s cold with the touch of the goddess, washed ethereal with the color of the heavens. those blue eyes bore into his own, disinterested, yet still critical. opaque, yet still penetrating.

no longer human, yet still, still Arme.

“rest,” Arme finally says. sharp, strict. “sleep is insufficient.”

“I know, I know.” Erblu tucks a hand behind Arme’s neck, settles it there. leans in close, hums.

Arme doesn’t move, neither toward him or away. he merely shifts his gaze from Erblu’s eyes, unfazed. Erblu smiles, only a little sadly. because there are whole stories in each of Arme’s tiny actions and day by day, there are less and less.

“hey, Arme.”

nothing. no reply. Arme hasn’t answered to that for awhile. it’s ultimately irrelevant, uninteresting.

but Erblu knows Arme still listens, despite it all. “do you think I could have stopped you?”

Arme raises his eyes to Erblu’s, fixes onto him for a brief moment. empty, emotionless. but Arme shifts his hand slightly in Erblu’s grasp, closes his eyes firmly, before opening them again.

a crystal blue, infused only with the wrath of the heavens. unquestioning, unfaltering. solemn, _sure_.

“no.”


	102. 115; arme (richter) / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 115; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Apostasia
> 
> even though Arme seems so much further than he was before, he still gives Apos this solace.

the sky plumes black with demonic dust, the shock cataclysmic. the pulse of light shatters the thick silence, breaking like glass in the dense forest. Apos knows that sound, but never so loudly. he knows that light, but never so brightly.

but he knows. at least the part of him that still knows the rites of the heavens. a celestial’s ascension isn’t superficial.

when Apos finally reaches the center of the explosion, he pauses. at the center is a sight he rarely sees, a sight he’s rarely _allowed_ to see. ribbons of creation magic wound around crystal white wings, beads of light pebbling across its arched feathers. familiar almost, uncannily similar. there’s a light, like the place of his creation, and there’s a power, like the one he has long lost.

the chaos grumbles within him. like a simmering ooze, like a biting resentment. but he knows, it’s Arme.

the celestial turns toward him, a gleaming crystal sword in hand, entire form condensating with the purity of the heavens. a moment, and Arme opens his hand, allows his weapon to dissipate into dew. a moment, and Arme walks over to him, heedless of the way his celestial aura arouses the chaos around him.

Apos doesn’t realize he’s thrown out his scythe until Arme stops it, pale fingers touching the air above the curved blade. Apos doesn’t notice the distance in the Arme’s expression when Arme reaches out, shredding through the shroud of chaos with his presence alone.

a presence, like the goddess. a power, like the goddess.

has Arme fully become one with the goddess? – or has he completely exceeded her?

cool is the touch that brushes upon his cheek, traces along his broken skin. the chaos fragments, seeps out of his scars, inflamed by its chill. Arme pauses when Apos grabs his wrist, his corrupted fingers curling tightly around celestial white skin, and those celestial blue eyes narrow minutely.

“ _let go, Apos_.”

a command, resounding, a sharp echo. but it hurts. Arme’s touch hurts. Apos breathes, feels the chaos particulate sting his throat, and digs his nails into Arme’s skin. it doesn’t break. Arme’s new form is a form impenetrable, a form unyielding. the most perfect vessel, filled with the purest grace.

Apos reaches out with his other hand. Arme doesn’t flinch as Apos touches his face, nudge his fingers cautiously against the heavenly white of Arme’s long hair. his holy aura stings him, but Apos ignores the pain, continues tracing a path down to his chin. Arme only watches him with those disinterested eyes. waits.

Apos already knows what Arme wants to do. an immense amount of creation power smolders in the hand Apos has caught, burning with absolute judgment.

but Arme is patient. so Apos pinches Arme’s chin. leans in slowly, takes Arme’s lips in his. they’re soft, cool, as they have always been. but when Apos pulls away, he sees on Arme’s expression, one unchanged, unperturbed. unmoving, still, one focused wholly upon him.

so it remains, something lost. it bothers him slightly, just like the emptiness within him. but he doesn’t lose what he never understood to begin with.

a moment, and Arme pulls his hand from Apos’s grasp. traces his fingers down, before resting his hand over the hollow in Apos’s chest. a moment, and Apos lowers his head to gaze at his hand absently, irreverently. sees the power pull the threads of chaos alive, before raising his eyes again to Arme’s.

blue, with the light of the goddess.

“no,” Apos says simply. covers Arme’s hand with his own, feels the overwhelming power pulse threateningly against his very existence. once, then twice, as it always does. but Apos no longer fears it.

Arme says nothing, but he lowers his hand. it’s a silent invitation, so Apos takes it, leans in close to rest his chin on Arme’s shoulder. his hands curling around Arme’s waist, just as the aura of the heaven closes around him. surrounds him with selfless benevolence, cocoons him in undeserved mercy. something Apos will always ask for, because Arme will always give it to him.

even like this, even when Arme seems so much further than he was before, Arme will give him this solace.

Apos knows why Arme chose this. he wanted to remove his human limitations, to transcend his celestial capabilities. to become more than a mere emissary, to become capable of unconditional deliverance.

to ascend as a _god_.

the light of the heavens bellows like a gentle cloud around them, the soothing chill calming this curdling chaos. this comfort that Arme was so reluctant to give before is a comfort that Arme now offers willingly.

Arme doesn’t ask anymore– what Apos wants. and so Apos doesn’t answer. nowadays, questions are unnecessary, words but meaningless sounds.

this is what they have. this is enough.


	103. 116; arme (richter) / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 116; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> he reflects as Erblu rests.

in his embrace, Erblu settles into a fitful sleep, the light of a Mut Eid a restless vigil. he traces his fingers through the warm gray strays, hears the soft breathing of utterances in Erblu’s sleep.

it has been some time. enough time for Erblu to grow accustomed to his new form, yet not long enough to shed his old preconceptions. he understands, though, Erblu’s hesitation. the figure in the mirror is unrecognizable. his hair is long, delicate, tumbling past his shoulders, and his eyes are piercing blue, lit up with an eternal glow.

he understands the need for the concern, the worry. Erblu is a celestial who feels and understands human emotion. Erblu is a celestial who experiences and embraces his own humanity.

it is why Erblu now greets him with a loneliness in his eyes. it is why Erblu insists on playing with his hair– braids it, bundles it up, or tucks it neatly around his shoulder. it is why Erblu is too afraid to ask why he no longer cuts it.

a simple answer to a simple question. should Erblu have asked, he would have answered.

he cut his hair short, because it frustrated him. it was unwieldy in combat and reminded him of his imperfections. his human form was like an ill-fitting glove, too touched by emotion, too confused by humanity. so he did everything in his power to reject it, disown it. but discomfort, disdain are human emotions.

and he is no longer one of humanity.

it’s something that he lost, he hears Erblu mumble in his sleep. lean into his stomach, grasp at his coat. a peaceful expression belying a troubled soul, uncertain, torn. he himself is perfectly at ease.

he allows his power to form in his hand, before bringing it to rest against Erblu’s temple. a power pulses like a lullaby, touches the wrinkle in Erblu’s brow. soothes quietly, comforts kindly.

he rests himself against the pillows, pulls Erblu’s sleeping form into a tighter embrace. presses his lips against Erblu’s forehead, bestows upon him a protective blessing. Erblu stirs, but doesn’t wake, too exhausted from yesterday’s exertion.

though he himself no longer needs rest, Erblu requires it, his form strained thin by the use of a foreign power. so he stays, tucked against Erblu, allowing his celestial power to flow forth, in ribboning tendrils of creation magic.

it is nearly dawn. his human body no longer registers the passing of time, the simple vessel it is now. he no longer wrestles with it, its human limitations, its human tendencies, its human emotions. it constrains his power no more than it contains it, a mere accessory to his being.

could Erblu have stopped him?

perhaps. his former self was given to the occasional flight of fancy. Erblu’s strength is in his emotions and it is likely he would have given into his own, if Erblu encouraged it.

but it was his choice. to become more than a celestial, more than an emissary to humanity, more than the avatar of the goddess. to become an entity in and of himself, unfettered by the conventions of humanity, freed from the mandate impressed onto him by the heavens.

in order to grant his divine protection to those he cares for, he destroyed the little of what was left of his humanity.

in order to unleash his wrath upon those who dare defy him– he ascended as a god.


	104. 117; arme, richter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 117; Arme Thaumaturgy, Richter
> 
> in a moment of weakness, he meets himself.

the world’s shattered, runs like streams before him. in the space where time and space is sundered into two, the city of El is plunged into the void again. water flows into nothingness, blue sky breaks into black emptiness, fragments of the world float in malformed chunks like chaos debris.

still the onslaught remains. with his white wings extended out behind him, he summons the power of creation into his hand, forms sword after sword, weapon after weapon, to defend the tower against these cursed monsters, to protect Elrios from the insidious plague. and yet, the disgusting, mangled things still rise from the primordial chaos.

he doesn’t cease.

even as his body protests, his movements slow, and lines like cracks web across his crystal projections. but he’s determined, unyielding, because he has learned in his time here that the world of Elrios is a world worth protecting.

he falters.

a misstep, and a berserk beast rips into him, sharp claws cutting into his stomach. he staggers back, bringing his hand to where his form is crumbling, shimmering white around his broken skin. he grasps it tightly, summons a projection in his free hand, stares down the hoard of monsters, stubborn, defiant.

the world screams.

a bellowing light booms across the landscape, crackles like thunder in the hollow void. a shower of thin spears like shattered light pierce the creatures, and a massive glass blade falls, consecrates the land with its radiant sanctity. his own weapon starts to pulse, hum with the sound of the heavens, resonate with his core. the giant projection disintegrates into sparkling mist and a white being descends from its center.

a celestial.

the celestial walks past the ashes to stand before him. eyes like a crystal mirror, a pale, wintry blue. wings spread out behind him like a glass glyph, an insignia encrusted with the power of the heavens. the magic of creation streams letters like ethereal ribbons around him, the words he knows by instinct, the meaning he knows within his core.

 _Richter_.

 _judge_.

he feels his core pulse when the celestial raises his hand and places his hand over his core. he looks up to see a freezing chill in those eyes. a measured power, a controlled grace. an aura of familiarity– an aura of nostalgia.

the aura of the goddess.

so a celestial of the goddess, too. but celestials were made to complete their mission– and nothing more. celestials were created to fulfill their purpose– and then to disappear. celestials were bound as servants, as emissaries, their will subservient to the will of their creator, the goddess.

so why… does this celestial have his own will?

he doesn’t understand. can’t. exhaustion finally overtakes him and he falls, the celestial catching him into an embrace. he feels light, as if he’s a mere ball of light again, overwhelmed by the purity of this power, captured by the immensity of this grace, a tiny spirit in the midst of a god.

 _rest_ , and it hums, like the voice of the goddess. a power touches upon his temple, and it soothes, like the presence of the goddess. infused with a strength that overflows and overtakes him, a strength that overpowers and overwhelms him.

his own power pales against it. his form is so easily broken by the dark El, his mind so inevitably affected by emotion. a form so fragile, fallible, weak.

so tainted by humanity, so imperfect.

a hand touches the back of his head, stirs him from his thoughts. he lifts his eyes to the celestial again, sees those eyes cold, aloof, like ice.

this celestial who exists with no human emotions. this celestial who left the domain of the goddess. this celestial who transcended the rule of the heavens. this celestial who is–

he curls his fingers into his hand and the projection in his hand shatters into crystal dust.

this celestial who is himself.

himself, who has gone above and beyond the purpose of his creation. himself, who has completely shed his humanity, his hesitation. himself, who is a perfect weapon, a perfect being, a perfect– god.

something he is not.

he tries to pull himself away, but the celestial doesn’t let him. there’s an emotion within him, rising up inside, but the celestial only holds him, only forces him to stay.

so hesitantly, he lowers his head, leans into the embrace. hesitantly, he brings his arms around the other celestial, unsettled, uncertain. the celestial shifts, lets him tuck his head against his shoulder, pulling him closer until their cores begin resonating as one.

_rest._

and so he listens. he closes his eyes, feels the power soak into his form, a blanket over his body, a balm over his wounds. relaxes and refreshes, calms and cares.

they remain this way for a long time. he, resting weightlessly in the celestial’s arms. the celestial, carding careful fingers through the crooked feathers in his wings, meticulous, attentive. lips press against his forehead in a blessing, touches the space where the cursed glyph used to be.

he doesn’t remember when he drifts off completely. after all, celestials do not sleep. but he remembers those words, whispered directly into his mind, imprinting into his form like the will of the goddess.

_you have the power to ascend._

_awaken… decide._


	105. 118; (foxgod!au) arme, richter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 118; Arme Thaumaturgy, Richter
> 
> ( _foxgod!au_ ; they’re heavenly spirits, descended from gods, caught up in the humans’ war.) Arme is sent to the judge general, on counts of insubordination. he receives what he deserves.

Arme slides the screen door open with a sharp snap.

“I was requested to meet you, general.”

the figure kneeling at the tea table is silent. like a statue, dressed in battle regalia, a robe draped over his shoulders, a sheathed sword, pure white with light blue insignia, lay next to him. when the general lifts his eyes, they reflect only glassy composure, a haunting reverie. he lifts his hand, motions to the patterned pillow in front of him.

Arme obliges and kneels. the man in front of him holds his teacup in his hands, raises it to his lips to take a long sip. Arme waits, back straightened, eyes sharp, his own sword still held cautiously at his side.

the teacup is placed onto the table with an inaudible clack.

“Arme.” his name is spoken with perfect crispness. “ _weapon_.”

Arme inclines his head, slightly. “Richter. _judge_.”

Richter’s calm expression betrays no emotion. no surprise, no amusement. it almost startles him, the enduring tranquility. but there’s an edge in his eyes, still, a sharpness beneath the glass. a similarity, an affinity.

Richter closes his eyes, sets his hands in his lap, effortlessly calm.

“I expected a reprimanding,” Arme discloses. “for insubordination.”

“I do not reprimand,” Richter answers evenly. “improvement only comes from within.”

Arme glances upward. Richter is nothing but the picture of quiet serenity, the shadows behind him dancing upon the walls like restless fox tails. understanding rises within him, but the words die on his tongue. eventually, Arme closes his eyes too. hears the sound of the wind whistling against the screen doors, hears the sound of silence pounding loud within him. feels himself steady, allows his inner spirit to unfurl alive.

when Arme opens his eyes again, Richter is standing at the sliding door, glass eyes observing the horizon. his arms are crossed, his white sword tucked into his belt, and when Arme shifts from his position, Richter turns his crystal blue eyes toward him.

“calmed?”

“yes.” Arme stands, picking up his sword in his hand. “thank you.”

Richter is cool, impassive, words critical. “rest is something only you can give yourself.”

Arme fixes his eyes firmly on him, challenging. “peace can still be provided.”

Richter glances up at him, still distant, aloof. but he seems more relaxed, the edges in his posture softer, kinder. Arme recognizes it now as he did before, the kinship, the understanding.

“indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foxgod!au:
>
>> “heavenly spirits, descended from gods. they say if you find one, they’ll grant your deepest desire. they say if you save one, they’ll serve you for a lifetime.”
> 
> an Asian-historical version of Elrios, with a warring nations vibe (and many liberties taken). the Xin Empire, governing Fahrmann, and the Velder Kingdom, governing Lurensia, are at war over the possession of the El.
> 
> the fox spirits in this au are based on the benevolent Japanese kitsune. they are celestial spirits capable of taking on human forms; with time, they become wiser, their power more potent. some are cunning, some are kind, but ultimately, they will test the worthiness of humans. where it has been met or exceeded, they will reward the human by granting their wish.
> 
> fox spirits do have limitations though: they cannot perform heavenly miracles, relying on purely human methods, and they are as mortal as any other being, though they live much longer than humans do. they are so elusive that even the tiniest rumor about them become legend.
> 
>  _Arme_ operates as a general under the commander of the Velder Army. his effectiveness lies in his raw strength and no-nonsense personality. unquestioningly loyal to the commander and his desire to restore the El, Arme doesn’t care about the intricacies of humanity, blindly obeying every command he’s given.
> 
>  _Richter_ is the judge general of the Velder Army. his role is to act as the absolute authority for all legal matters of the army. though he primarily dispenses injunctions and orders, Richter is exceedingly skilled at combat himself. those who challenge him underestimate him at their peril.
> 
> they are both _white_ foxes. Arme is roughly four hundred years of age, though much of it was spent despising humans and less understanding it, while Richter has been around humans for long enough to transcend above humanity.


	106. 119; (weapon!au) arme, richter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( _weapon!au_ : this is just my excuse to write modern!au Arme and Richter, but with swords.) there is a truth acknowledged by everyone who works at  _Arme Thaumaturgy_ : there is only one person more intimidating than the president-- his brother.

the air conditioner rumbles in the dim lighting of the room. the sun peeks from behind a skyscraper, lighting up the glass windows, in a bleak light. at the large desk, Arme stands, poring over the giant sheets of designs lying flat upon the surface, as he spins a thin crystal knife in his hand. the clock ticks, his phone blinks, and he catches the dagger, jots down a few notes on the margins of the page.

the door slips open, bathes the darkened room with the hall light.

“Arme, dear, is this a good time?”

Helen. he lifts his eyes up to spy the director of marketing standing at the door, back aglow with too bright artificial light. he blinks slowly, before setting down the knife, rolling up his pages, and pacing over to the door. as he approaches, Helen offers him a smile, before taking a step back to allow him through.

standing next to Helen is a man, blank-eyed, relaxed. black suit pressed crisp, long jacket hanging over his shoulders, a hand tucked in his pocket, posture slack, deceptive. a white sheath hangs at his belt, and long blue hair falls gently onto his shoulders. blue eyes observe him in return, unflappable, familiarly aloof, and Arme raises his eyes to meet them.

his brother.

“Richter,” Arme greets firmly.

barely a flicker of emotion in those eyes, something he’s not unused to. “Arme.”

“oh, you boys never say hello properly,” Helen chuckles, drawing Arme’s attention. taps her pen onto her notepad. “alright, I know you both hate waiting. Arme, I’ve briefed Richter on the latest news and counseled him for advice on your last several bids. it seems most of them will go through smoothly, so I’ll go ahead and put together legal requirements for our acquisition proposals. thankfully, nothing spectacularly awful occurred this month, so we won’t need him to render any other services.”

“thank you, Helen,” Arme says. he glances back over to Richter, who was watching him silently as she talked. to Helen, he says, “then if you don’t mind, we’ll head downstairs.”

“of course,” Helen offers her signature smile. “can’t keep you away from your toys for long.”

as she walks away, Arme starts in the opposite direction, Richter following behind him. they walk in mutual silence, comfortable, normal, for them both. in the elevator, Arme plugs in the passcode for the basement floor. lights blink, the doors close, and they descend to the heart and soul of the weapons technology company, _Arme Thaumaturgy_.

Richter doesn’t say much on the trip down, but Arme is used to it. his older brother dispenses his words less often, but to greater effect. Arme doesn’t understand it much, as words complement action, but they both have their preferences and modes of operation. and neither of them are wrong.

Arme opens the door to the secure room, turns on the lights. it’s absent of anything but a long white table and a few targets standing at the far side of the room. Richter stops at the table, but Arme sweeps to the storage cabinet, retrieves a box from the shelves of locked containers.

Arme opens the box down onto the table, unlocks it with a deft motion. slowly pulls each of the heavy crystal blades, and set them onto the table carefully.

“a few prototypes of _Dritt_ ,” Arme explains, picking up a knife in his hands. “I made a few modifications to them, since I needed to balance its weight for a better grip.”

Arme gives it to Richter, who takes it and gives it a cursory examination. turns it around between his fingers. tosses it into the air, once, twice, before catching it easily into his grip. feels it in his hand, before his eyes flicker upward again. his crystal blue eyes betray none of his emotions and, yet at the same time, all of his intentions.

Richter thrusts his knife toward Arme, sudden, deadly. Arme blocks it with the knife hidden in his hand, deflects the blade away from him. Arme gives him a glare that could cut steel, but Richter’s expression is distant, empty, intimidating all the same. after all, they’re cut from the same cloth.

Richter retracts his knife, touches a finger lightly against the edge of the blade. rubs his fingers together, feels the fine crystal dust. “it’s sufficient.”

“it needs to be sturdier,” Arme says, stowing his knife away. “it’s difficult to manufacture knives with less material while retaining its fidelity.”

“it needs only to be adequate,” Richter says, dismissively.

“I don’t tolerate mere adequacy.”

Richter sets the knife down, shifts his eyes to the other in the array. a compact, but thick knife. a longer blade, almost arms length. all with a signature hollow at its center, thin tendrils of metal crisscrossing the center.

“here, this is more suited to you. _Zweit_ ,” Arme says, picking up the short sword. runs his finger along the polished side of the blade, before handing it to Richter. Richter takes it, slides his thumb firmly against the blade, before flipping it over to the other side. Arme watches him in silence.

then Richter looks up, with only the barest interest flickering in his eyes. “may I test it?”

“you don’t need my permission.”

and with that, Richter launches the sword straight into one of the targets, embedding itself inches deep into the center of bull’s eye. it twangs from the force, resounding in the silence of the room.

Arme is unimpressed. “that’s a _sword_ , Richter.”

Richter only picks up a dagger, starts tossing it casually. “merely a means to an end.”

“a sword is for _cutting_ , not _throwing_.”

Richter throws the dagger at the target too and it too sails across the room, sliding meekly next to the last sword. “for those with limited imagination.”

“or for those with limited resources,” Arme retorts.

“aim to eliminate and you need only one.” 

Arme doesn’t miss the ghost of a threat in Richter’s eyes, a keenness rolling beneath his apathy. Richter places his hand onto his sword at his belt, as he waits for Arme to walk over to the target and reclaim both blades. Richter thumbs the guard of his sword, unsheathing and sheathing it idly. observes, “you are too fond of putting on a show.”

“and you’re too fond of being ridiculous,” Arme says, pacing toward the side door. “come, let’s test these on the actual training dummies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _weapon!au_ :
> 
> a branch off my normal _modern!au_ , unrelated to the _angel!au_. I love swords and suits, I’m so sorry.
> 
>  _Arme_ and _Richter_ are brothers, both former special agents with a shared affinity for weapons. Arme utilizes his materials engineering experience as the lead designer of his weapons technology company, while Richter chooses the practice of business law, to keep Arme’s company in order and to keep Arme out of legal trouble.
> 
> their _modus operandi_ is intimidation, though Arme more overtly so. Richter finds displays of strength unnecessary, but he intimidates with his mere presence alone. to believe he’s unaware of it is to massively underestimate him.
> 
> Arme prefers using daggers. Richter, swords. they both have a tendency to throw their weapon of choice.
> 
> Richter’s sword is named _Glanzen Schwertz_. a gift Arme crafted him, after Richter broke his previous sword. (“you don’t need to name it.” “it’s better than _Zweit_.”)
> 
> Arme values practicality and aims for perfection. Richter cares only about utility; after all, a weapon is a weapon. they banter about this occasionally.
> 
> they both have idle tics. Arme likes to spin his dagger, while Richter fiddles with the hilt of his sword. like with a pen, you know, but more intimidating because it’s a blade.
> 
> they’re roughly four years apart. their last name is _Thaumaturgy_. their family is rooted in military tradition, with the past four generations all serving as agents of the government’s secret service.
> 
> they’re both extra as hell and they both know it.  
> 


	107. 120; richter (arme)/ apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 120; Richter (Arme Thaumaturgy) / Apostasia
> 
> this time, Arme understands.

the flames dance weakly amid the kindle, smoldering ash in the fireplace. its warmth radiates outward, touches upon the frosted windows, nips at the cool air. late in the night, a stillness permeates, a silence settles. everyone has returned to their rooms but for him.

he rests against the couch, eyes closed, arms crossed, passively sublimating the air into raw creation power. he’s long stopped hiding his power, stopped pretending to be human, but if anyone has noticed, no one has brought it up. only Elsword, whose crimson eyes now glow a subtle blue, stops to look at him, starts to speak, though the question never comes, brushed aside with hesitation. but Elsword understands what he is-- and why he is still here.

it no longer matters. he no longer cares. he is no longer bound by the rules of the heavens. he is only here to guard, to protect. the El, and anyone who needs him.

in the emptiness, it creeps in like a shadow. a trail of thorns, crackling like broken glass, flickering like black starlight. a cold presence, unlike the warmth of a human’s. one similar to his, but still so different-- and one he has come to know well.

when he opens his eyes, Apos is there, partially kneeling onto the couch in front of him, hollow green eyes staring into his. Apos tilts his head, slow, ponderous, expression unreadable, emotionless. but he knows what Apos wants. so he flicks his hand out, parts the curtain of his creation magic, and Apos takes it. presses up against his side, tucks his chin against his shoulder as he tends to do, and closes his eyes.

it is easier now. the chaos that pulled him in and threatened to tear him apart is now a mere haze at the edge of his peripheral. the corruption that tainted Apos’s skin a broken blue and dyed emotion into his own, is now wholly consumed by the radiance of his creation. the presence he used to find uncomfortable, unfathomable, is now a presence that he tolerates, endures-- _accepts_. without the noise, without his emotions, he realizes. he understands.

he traces his fingers into Apos’s hair, the dirty green strands messed up by the wind. Apos shivers minutely at his touch, but leans into it anyway, remains. fingers travel to Apos’s cheek, then his temple, and then brush over Apos’s forehead. the glyph of Henir pulses against his fingers, irreverent, alive. the mark of chaos, seeded by doubt, stirred by fear. the sign of abandonment, the fate _apostasia_.

in an instant, it could be sanctified. in an instant, Apos could be released of it. the brokenness could be made whole, the tainted be purified, the one resting in his arms would be forgiven, saved.

 _Apostasia_ would die and Apos would be reborn.

but that is not what Apos wants.

he brings his other arm around Apos, brings Apos close to him. there’s a void in Apos’s chest, an empty space, but he feels the steady beat of his own core, the quickening of his divine power. traces of gentle light touch against Apos’s skin like sparkling dust, a brightness against the black corruption.

he traces his fingers down, presses his fingers into the cracks in Apos’s body, soothes the chipped skin. Apos lifts his head, his eyes blinking open slowly again, seemingly allayed by his touch. his empty green eyes that watch him no longer appear empty, but burn with a dark, deep fire.

so without words, Apos raises his corrupted fingers against his lips. captures them, as he does, without words. presses their lips together, rough, uncaring. asks with his tongue, and when he opens his mouth, Apos asks for more.

because if this is what Apos wants, he’ll give him it all.

when Apos is done, he pulls away, lets a bit of dribble connect them both. Apos’s green eyes are dazed, so he fixes his gaze on them, brings his fingers up to brush away the saliva on Apos’s lips.

and Apos collapses into him again, bunches up his robes in his hands. shaking, shivering, as if he feels too much the chill of creation. though his face, his eyes betrays none of it.

because Apos wants _this_. this, that has taken him so long to realize and understand. acceptance without judgment, healing without hope. a grace unconditional, a mercy immeasurable.

Apos, a broken celestial, who searches for comfort in his constant solace. Apos, a lost celestial, who craves a forgiveness he believes he does not deserve. Apos, a celestial who feels and wants just as humans do and a celestial who understands none of it.

Elsword asked him before, in curiosity, concern. who is Apos?

he could not answer before. but now... now, he knows.

Apos is _himself_ , who he has come to peace with. Apos is _himself_ , who he has come to understand. Apos is _himself_ , who considers him a god.

if this is the prayer Apos offers him, then this is the prayer he will grant.


	108. 121; anpassen / wander > apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 121; Lofty Anpassen, Lofty Wanderer > Apostasia
> 
> the chaos within him grows still stronger.

it’s like this always when Anpassen finds him, curled into a ball, his light too faded and his aura too muddled in doubt, in fear.

it’s like this always when Wander feels a gentle glow descending from the sky, and Anpassen comes to kneel in front of him. stubbornly, Wander curls himself tighter, trembles as the light touch upon the chaos seeping into his wounds.

when Anpassen places a hand on his arm, Wander only flinches away.

“... does it hurt?”

of course it does. but Wander can’t say anything. because nothing Anpassen has tried worked. nothing Anpassen can do can save him.

when Wander doesn’t answer, Anpassen tries again. “you can tell me, Wander, what you need right now.”

he needs nothing. if he can’t do this much, if he can’t heal himself, he’s a failure as a celestial.

“I’ll be fine,” Wander says. Anpassen won’t believe him; neither would he. the tears rise into his eyes and the ground falls out under him.

“Wander.” Anpassen’s voice is soft. “let me help you.”

Wander pushes the hand away again, yelping as he’s stung by the pain threading through his arm. he brings his veil over his head tightly, as if he can protect himself from the world when he knows-- he _knows_ , it is the chaos within.

who does he have to blame?

the blackness threading through his form, the chaos dribbling like thick fluid from his depleted core. he shakes-- he trembles.

he feels a small warmth, a gentle light. when he looks up finally, Anpassen’s smile is faint, knowing, unlike him. the Eid in his hand is pulsing a warm yellow, prescient. understanding, healing, soothing.

the chaos within him only grows.

“here, take this, for now,” Anpassen says. it’s difficult to reconcile this solemn smile with his usual cheer. “you’re here to find something, right? I'll find it for you.”

Anpassen can’t find it-- won’t. it no longer exists.

the Eid hovers close to him, taunting and comforting all the same. Anpassen takes his still uncorrupted hand, opens it to grasp the Eid, and it bathes him in a gentle light.

he grasps it inexplicably, like a thread.

“take it, Wander, until I can replace it with what you need.”

Anpassen doesn’t ask further. he already knows what he needs.

evidence, assurance, _proof_ \-- that the goddess is still listening to him.

Wander doesn’t understand.

this determination, this resolution, this _will_ that Wander’s never seen of Anpassen before. these dancing Eids flicker from a warm yellow to a freezing blue, eyes flicker cold with the chill of the goddess, and Anpassen unfurls his wings, crystal like the aura of the heavens.

something within him tightens into knots.

what did he expect? Anpassen is a celestial. Anpassen, who can infuse his power with emotions, who can create warm spells of healing, can still tap into the power of the goddess.

Wander cannot.

-

the more he breathes, the more he drowns.

Anpassen hasn’t returned yet. the sky grows still darker. stubbornly, Wander stands, though his legs scream, broken into pieces by his fall.

he holds the bead of light with him, the tiny Eid of purity. it’s bright, illuminates his way, encourages him on. a remembrance of a smile, the memory of happiness, the proof of a promise.

even though all around him is chaos, even though he can’t see the forest for the trees, even though step by step, he bleeds the essence of himself-- he pushes on. he floats and demons fall, crashing into pools of blue blood, run through by spears of chaos raining from above.

he is shattering. this broken body of his are mere shards, crumbling into black dust.

at the center of the chapel, he senses the El again, radiating with the depth of demonic power. the darkness that crept over it all consuming is like the chaos that iced over his core.

he is not surprised.

it is the nature of things, the natural way. all that lives dies; all that are created become nothing.

he was a fool for refusing to understand-- for hoping beyond all hope that it could be otherwise.

in his hand, the Eid pulses. he holds it to his heart, feels the warm emotions lap futilely at his broken core. all the comfort, all the care that Anpassen gave him-- it could never heal him from this.

he’s known. he’s always known.

when he lifts his eyes, he sees a figure laying on the ground, prone. it bleeds an essence ethereal, just like he does. he swallows his breath and it burns like glass dust.

when he gathers the broken body against his, the Eid beside him blinks. an echo of a promise. a reminder of light, of warmth, of purity… inextinguishable.

the chaos rises around him, unbidden.

when he lifts his head, he sees only the stalking forms of the demons hovering before him. he sees only the army of enemies surrounding them. he doesn’t understand.

the core that has been held so carefully together by his faith, his hope, has become so fragile, so shattered, it breaks.

he feels something driving the chaos around him, and yet he feels nothing at all.

a determination, a promise, a light. the Eid glows upon him, touches upon his scars. above him, his spears gleam black with chaos as he brings the broken celestial close to him.

_Rein_ , Anpassen called it.

then let it rain down.

-

he sits in the stillness for a long time. when has emptiness felt so heavy-- the hollow, so profound?

he doesn’t think.

a light bathes the room in cool warmth, its pulses staggering the demons surrounding them. the Eid that has been radiating weakly blooms with careful strength.

he doesn’t understand. but within him, around him, the chaos seems tamed.

none of it matters anymore. his corruption. his emotions. his existence.

his _apostasia_.

a forsaken celestial doesn’t deserve a second thought. a failed celestial cannot be redeemed. in the emptiness, there is comfort. in the nothingness, there is solace.

but he stays. he stays, even as his eyes sting wet, blank empty. he stays, until those closed eyes finally open, until the shattered skin starts glowing with life.

“... you’re here,” Anpassen coughs, voice weak from the dust. “sorry, I’m… still not strong enough. Wander, did… you...”

he doesn’t answer. Anpassen still smiles. he doesn’t want to understand.

there was nothing to find, there was nothing he could find.

Wander gazes blankly into those warm green eyes. in those eyes, he beholds the power of the goddess.

it doesn’t exist. and yet, it does.

“it’s alright, Wander, I still…”

a smile, gentle, kind. those eyes, unwavering, determined, forgiving.

a hand comes to cup his face, brushes at the black tears dripping down his cheeks. it comes to rest against his chest, touches the hollow that was his core.

“I still believe in you.”

Wander comes to grasp those fingers in his own. listless, empty.

“even though…” and Anpassen smiles gently. somehow, still. “even though you no longer believe in yourself.”


	109. 122; arme, richter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 122; Arme Thaumaturgy, Richter
> 
> if celestials are servants to the goddess, how could they become gods?

he slips into this domain more frequently now. it is a place to rest, to recover– a place to reflect, remember. as he descends upon the white lake, his wings fold behind him, fluttering softly in the mist of El. exhaustion is human and release from it necessary, so he makes no effort to hide his wings or to don his human form again.

he does not need to. here, in the realm of El, a place that comes closest to the heavens, her power unspools in threads and welcomes his arrival.

in this place, he will recognize it. the weight of humanity upon his celestial being, the burden of the gods upon his human soul. his emotions and his will. the strain that came from being human and being celestial that he stubbornly ignored before– he faces it now.

he kneels at the edge of the lake, dips his hands into the white water. he sees his reflection and he doesn’t, his blue eyes staring back at him from the surface of the water.

his hair has grown long again. he manifests a projection into his hand, draws it behind his neck, cuts his hair. what’s left falls into his face and he brushes it to his side again.

though he forgets why he continues like this.

the human emotions within him weaken him. why did the goddess grant it to him? it is not his place to question.

he closes his eyes. slowly, he murmurs in the language of the heavens, feels the aura of creation unfurl around him. he remembers, the command of the goddess, the mission that resounds within him, as it always does.

_Ainchase Ishmael._

_“… Arme Thaumaturgy.”_

the voice is familiar. it doesn’t take a moment for him to recognize it as his own. he opens his eyes slightly, sees a figure across the water. a celestial being, white with eminence, cold with divinity. icy blue eyes gaze at him impassively and so he stares back, in a challenge.

Arme has seen him before. the celestial who is no longer a servant, but a god– _Richter_.

– himself.

a power hums, folds like sheer fabric in this domain. those wings like crystal, circulating glyphs of intricate patterns drawn in perfect symmetry. an aura filled with strength, with an authority exceeding him. and yet, he does not feel forced to bow. 

so Arme brings out his own wings, the white wings of the goddess, forms crafted of her power. his power skates across the water, breaks the still surface into waves.

Richter lands before him, alighting into the lake. his white coat dips into the water, dusts with droplets, and his long white hair pool upon the surface.

Arme watches unflinchingly as Richter raises his hand. a touch to his cheek, a touch to his shoulder, and he does not move. hands imbued with the power of the heaven grasp at his arms, threads of holy essence casually repairing his form, sealing his wounds. a hand at the back of his neck, and Richter draws him close, presses his lips against his forehead– a wordless request.

so Arme lowers his eyes and allows himself to rest.

slowly, those hands move again. one trails down his back, beckoning him, and one to his front, unclasping his coat. a brush of a hand wills his golden projections away and a chill slips under his vest, touches at his bare skin. he feels his coat fall to the side, a hand trace at his hair, until finally Richter guides him gently into the lake.

he watches as the water laps at his skin, bare white in his celestial form. the water of the divine melts into his being, hum within his consciousness, and reverberates through his core. the waters of the heavens is nothing like the waters of the earth and it laces through him, alive.

when Arme wakes, he’s laying on the ground at the lakeside, his coat tucked over him. next to him, Richter sits, eyes gazing across the lake. his skin is more human, his hair a shorter and deeper  blue. golden projections shine anew, like Arme’s own, and silk straps adorn his coat, like a priest’s, but unnecessary otherwise.

so even gods still play human.

Arme sits up, slowly shedding his celestial aura until a human hue colors his skin and the celestial light fades from his clothes. Richter doesn’t move, only extending his aura over to nudge into his, a barest acknowledgment.

Arme notes, “you still have a mission.”

“not a mission given to me,” Richter answers, clarifying. overbearingly calm, in a tone much like the goddess. “but my own.”

“I understand. gods have their own will,” Arme says. “but a celestial’s will is the will of the goddess.”

Richter lifts his blank blue eyes to Arme’s. considers him for a while. finally, he says, “you know who I am.”

“yes.”

“then decide.”

Arme gazes at him blankly.

Richter explains, “you have your own will. you have decided your own path. yet your tolerance of contradiction renders you incapable of recognizing it.”

Arme can’t help but flinch. Richter is right. his humanity is a weakness, detrimental to his very being. so why does he hold onto it?

“your humanity gave you the ability to choose,” Richter says, casually reading his thoughts. “your humanity blinds you to your true nature. celestials cannot choose. you already have.”

“but it is impossible,” Arme says flatly. “celestials are only the servants of the goddess. we exist only to serve the goddess.”

“only in serving may celestials become gods.”

Arme pauses. “… I don’t understand.”

Richter looks at him, his eyes clear crystal, cold confidence.

“decide. and you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _celestial!headcanons_ :
> 
> celestials are extensions of the goddess, absolute servants to her will. the reason Ain has his own thoughts and desires is because he developed his own humanity. and though Arme rejects his own, it still affects him, in ways that he mostly considers negatively.
> 
> except for one: humanity gives Ain the power to choose– specifically, his path. Arme chooses to dedicate himself further to the goddess to enhance his strength, in order to complete his mission. in becoming Richter, he sacrifices his sense of self, his humanity, for the sake of a mission he chooses for himself. it’s still a choice, albeit one that throws him further in the direction of godhood.
> 
> to discard the self and to serve others. to become an existence of ultimate selflessness, of absolute servitude. this is Arme and Richter. this is how celestials can become gods.


	110. 123; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 123; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> on a cozy winter morning, Erblu takes Arme to a cafe.

it’s mid-morning and a bleak sunlight filter in from the clouded skies, snow floating down like powder carried upon the wind. Arme doesn’t notice it normally, rarely wasting his time on frivolous events, so he guesses he has Erblu to thank for this, as usual.

the cafe is cool, the baked warmth from the ovens chilled by the occasional opening of the doors. a small crowd mills about the counter, piled full with breads and fresh pastries, but the seating area is sparse, comfortably uncrowded. Arme sits at a table against the window, breathes to see it fog upon the glass, and raises his scarf over his nose.

a clack on the table, and two mugs filled with steaming liquid slide in front of him. a cheery, familiar voice. “sorry for making you wait, Arme. thought it wouldn’t be as busy today, but it seems like everyone had the same idea.” 

Arme turns to see Erblu smiling at him brightly. Erblu climbs onto the stool across from him, sheds his winter coat, and tucks it against the back of his seat. he pulls his beige sweater neat and unwraps his light blue scarf, his-- Arme’s, not Erblu’s. Erblu exchanged their scarfs last winter for some reason, but Erblu seemed eager about it so Arme didn’t ask.

Erblu’s fond of strange customs and Arme’s grown accustomed to the strangeness.

“isn’t it too warm, Arme?”

Arme blinks, but Erblu’s settled his hands around the mug, giving Arme’s scarf and coat a look of concern. Arme hadn’t bothered to remove his coat since arriving and still doesn’t see the need to.

“I’m fine.”

Erblu pouts. “take it off.”

Arme doesn’t understand, but obliges, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. “why?”

“because it looks like you’re going to run away.”

Arme blinks. Erblu only rubs the side of his mug with a thoughtful finger, doesn’t elaborate. it’s an honesty Arme expects and appreciates from Erblu, so he shrugs his coat off too, tucks it behind him. copies Erblu and brings his gloved hands around the mug. feels the cool of the air nip at his bare neck and the warmth tickling faintly through his gloves, looks down into the liquid, waits for Erblu to talk.

“I got us some hot chocolate,” Erblu says, his expression finally lighting up with a glow. “this cafe adds some peppermint for the holidays and it’s really good. come on, try it!”

Arme brings the mug to his lips, takes a pondering sip. it’s thick, textured, more along the lines of melted chocolate than milk, spiced with a hint of peppermint. similar to the hot chocolate Erblu makes occasionally, so there is a reason Erblu insisted on going to the cafe to have this.

knowing Erblu, it is a simple one.

“so?” Erblu asks, peering over his own mug of hot chocolate.

“it’s good,” Arme answers simply, replaces the mug onto the table.

Erblu seems pleased with himself, takes another sip of his chocolate. “good.”

a few minutes pass in quiet company, a light classical sound filling the gap. Arme’s gaze returns to the light snow outside as it continues to blanket the world. a few flakes stick upon the glass, condensate into droplets, and some tumble into the sidewalk, joining a new layer of snow.

when he turns back to his mug, he notices Erblu watching him with a fondness in his eyes.

“enjoying this?” 

Arme hums. “it’s fine.”

“I guess that’s as much as I’m getting from you,” Erblu laughs. and then, a different emotion reflects in his eyes. “it’s you, after all.”

Arme doesn’t understand. but he’s seen this look too often to be surprised by it. Erblu returns his attention to his empty mug, spins it carefully on the table, before he looks over at Arme’s mug.

maybe. maybe...

“you know, Arme, your hot chocolate is getting--”

Arme reaches out to touch Erblu’s cheek. Erblu blinks, starting slightly, as Arme leans over the table, presses his lips against Erblu’s cheek. when Arme pulls away, Erblu’s staring at him in surprise, a pinkness flushing over his face. Arme settles back onto his chair again, watches Erblu touch his cheek, dumbfounded.

“Arme… you… what...”

“that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Arme points out, and a trace of a smile flits across Erblu’s lips before he buries his face in his hands.

but Erblu’s laughing, quietly. so Arme picks up his mug again, sips it, waiting as Erblu lets out a sigh, collects himself.

“why are you like this, Arme?” but the glint in Erblu’s eyes is only faintly playful. Erblu sparkles gently, happily-- incredibly.

it’s enough for him to see Erblu happy.

so Arme answers, “you prefer me like this.”

Erblu smiles, bright, reaches over to tangle their fingers together. “and I won’t have it any other way.”


	111. 124; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 125; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> he’s running out of time.

Elrianode. 

slumbering city of ancient lore, frozen in the twain of existence and the void, it emanates a power, untainted, distilled. sanctum of Elrios’s most sacred El, besieged by humanity and its twisted desires, the promise of its purity soothes him-- the threat of its corruption shakes him to his core.

it’s become harder for him to hide his celestial nature. but it’s too late for him to reveal the truth.

the demon already knows it. her critical blue eyes dart to him when the fracturing chaos sends shockwaves rippling through Elrianode. Elsword, too, has started giving him looks of concern, believes him a little less when he says he’ll be fine. 

…  but he'll be fine. he’s come this far with this magic of his own. he’ll complete his mission with this magic created of the goddess and the El-- his oath, his _Eid_.

even though the monsters formed of Henir are of another caliber altogether. even though these disgusting beings ooze radiant sludge, their merest aura setting his scar ablaze.

he doesn’t tell them. how can he? he can’t tell them how weak he becomes in the presence of Henir, how it drains him completely when he’s near its chaos. he can’t tell them he’s a _celestial_ , even though they already suspect it.

so he bears it, because they need him to. even though his Eids splutter like flickering light and his senses fracture into broken mirrors. even though the encroaching void tears the very fabric of this world apart and pulls the ground out from under him.

“Ain!” 

he barely hears Elsword’s voice. the colors fray in his sight, dotted black with abyss.

“Ain, look out!”

he sees the monster leaping toward him too late. it crashes into him, sinks its slimy claws into his core. too late, a crystal light impales the being, throws it off of him. before he can collect himself, he’s yanked to his feet, brought close to shimmering white wings.

he recognizes those before he can recognize those hollow blue eyes.

“Arme--” he gasps, grasping tightly at the wound at his chest. Arme merely holds him protectively, summoning an array of projection swords into his free hand. dark blue residue stains onto Arme’s white coat, splotches like oil onto his celestial radiance.

 _“Erblu, Rein,”_ Arme commands. with a flick of his wrist, his projections skewers the monsters. Erblu merely gazes at his own hand, shattered, broken, and when he struggles for an Eid, he feels the scar sear white hot against his eye.

he can’t. he _can’t_.

Arme senses it and places a hand over the cursed glyph. his chaos wars with it-- the goddess’s pure power against Henir’s corruption. Erblu cries out as it burns his sight blind, clings onto Arme tightly, desperately.

“Arme-- Arme, it--”

Erblu doesn’t know when it ends.

-

when he wakes up, night has fallen. there’s no light but the shining of the stars, no sound but the trickling of water. there’s nothing but a healing presence embracing him, folding around him ribbons of raw creation power.

when he opens his hand, an Eid splutters weakly into life. when he covers his eye, it aches still, laced with the burning corruption he never purified-- could never purify.

in the temple of the El, there is only silence.

“... Arme?”

no answer. but Arme doesn’t sleep. Erblu shifts slightly in Arme’s hold and Arme’s grasp loosens enough so that Erblu can sit upright. Erblu feels a cool hand come to cup his cheek, and a thumb brush his left eye closed. blank diamond blue eyes watch him, observant.

Erblu looks up as Arme, pinches at Arme’s coat. he’s too tired for his own emotions. “you’re still in your celestial form.”

Arme doesn’t react-- makes no effort to react. Erblu furrows his brow. was Arme in his celestial form the whole battle? had anyone else seen him? Erblu takes care to avoid using his celestial power around the others; it makes fighting more difficult, but he can’t afford to lose Elsword’s trust.

but Arme has always been different.

Arme trails his finger against the invisible glyph over Erblu’s eye. it pulses with a haunted chill and Erblu can’t help but shiver.

“... Arme, why are you still… in your celestial form?”

no answer, yet again. 

Erblu brings his hand to Arme’s face, touches the delicate paleness of Arme’s celestial form. Arme barely blinks, barely responds as Erblu rests his forehead against Arme’s.

“Arme.” Erblu tries not to let his voice shake. “turn back.”

Arme closes his eyes, obliges. the color flows back into his form, his wings reforming into his gold ornaments again. but his eyes remain that icy crystal blue, eerily apathetic, startlingly hollow.

the color of the goddess, empty of emotion.

fear. that is the emotion creeping like ice down his back.

Arme wraps his arms around him again and this time Erblu lets him. lets Arme tuck Erblu’s head against his shoulder, lets Arme brush his fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“sorry-- Arme.”

“don’t be sorry. rest.”

Arme’s touch is careful, caring, his words soft, the same. but it’s still so cold. Arme is still so cold.

Erblu buries his face into Arme’s shoulder. his magic splutters weakly between his fingers. in spite of all the progress he’s made, in spite of all the emotions he’s cultivated, he is still helpless in the face of Henir.

he’s running out of time. he needs to become stronger.

\-- before Arme loses all traces of his humanity.


	112. 125; richter / bluhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 125; Richter / Bluhen
> 
> this is the path that is right for him.

he watches from atop the hills as the clouded dawn recedes from the sanctum of El. it resonates within him, a confidence, a surety, a calm, a serenity. the wind skates along the grass along him, tickles through his coat, as the earth and the heavens harmonize and finally become one.

a new sun rises.

he remembers what he believed. when he first descended to this world, when he first tapped into the potential of the El. this power was too much, too overwhelming, and he was too weak, too small. a celestial was not created to contain emotion, a celestial was not supposed to _feel_.

but he realizes now.

he does and he will. that is merely the nature of his existence.

it’s a solace unbroken, a rippling of grass in the glade. a sharpness parts through the morning mist, fades into a familiar heavenly hum.

“it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

there are no words-- there are never any. but he feels the assertion and reconciliation and turns to see him.

\-- his other self, his opposite, all crystal ice, all aloof aseity. pure white coat, pale blue hair, brushed by the breeze.

he lets his heart bloom in his smile.

“come here, will you?”

at his request, the god descends, lands onto the ground in front of him. he reaches out with a hand to brush aside his long hair, fingers lingering against his pale white skin. a pure, distilled holiness reflects in those blue eyes, gazes upon him without judgment, without condemnation.

he threads his fingers into those long strands, brings the celestial being into an embrace. he feels the simmering creation in his arms and the resonance of a hollow core against his beating heart.

they have become so different. and yet still, they came to understand the same.

there are many paths, many worlds. many choices, many wills. in one, he gave himself to the heavens; in another, he fell from her grace.

so he understands. this is the path he chose for himself. this is the path that is right for him.

and he was never wrong.


	113. 126; arme (richter) / erblu (bluhen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 126; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Erbluhen Emotion (Bluhen)
> 
> Erblu has changed.

Erblu waits for him, floating in a pillow of power just above the bed. the El surrounding him bellows like puffed clouds, flows like rivers into the pockets where his Eids shine. his Eids too no longer sparks dissonantly amidst the goddess’s creation magic, humming instead with a warmth similar to the fountain of El.

Arme lands upon the floor noiselessly and Erblu wastes no time righting himself and floating toward him, wordlessly taking his hands. Arme lets him and Erblu smiles at him, serenely.

“Arme.” his voice is calm, patient, and nothing else.

he’s different, a little. but Erblu is well. that is all he cares for.

“sit down.” Erblu gestures toward the bed. “you must be so tired.”

he is not, but he does not object. Arme sits and Erblu crawls in behind him, rests his hands upon his shoulders. slowly, reverently removes his satin mantle, setting it aside before coming to curl his arms around him in an embrace and bury his face into the crook of his neck. when Erblu breathes, Arme can sense the currents of El around them realigning. measured, controlled, all in harmony with one another.

after awhile, Erblu pulls away and tucks his fingers against Arme’s long hair. careful fingers tickle against his neck, comb neat his wind-mussed hair. and Arme lets him, as he always does.

the Eids that sparkle around Erblu resonate like chimes as they spin. it intrudes upon his own celestial aura like radiant stars. a song that encases their forms, that melds seamlessly into his core, a song that lulls, familiarly, differently. so Arme closes his eyes, rests.

when Erblu stops, Arme opens his eyes again. Erblu is kneeling in front of him, still not quite touching the bed, green eyes sparkling warmly, his hand cradling something at Arme’s ear.

so Arme reaches for it too. it’s a small braid, pinned behind his ear with a glowing Eid. Erblu smiles, that same soft smile, seemingly satisfied with himself.

“you come back here to see me, right? now you’ll have something to remind you of me wherever you go.”

Arme says nothing, but Erblu chuckles. but there’s no doubt or confusion in his eyes anymore. no sadness, no longing. only a warm confidence, a tender happiness. when Erblu leans in, kisses him gently on the lips, the touch of it lingers like a blessing.

Erblu smiles again, pulls him into an embrace. Arme falls into it, raising his arms around Erblu to hold him steadily. his own icy aura collides with Erblu’s warm melody, but this is something he’s used to. that they’re both used to.

there’s a solace in the familiar.

“do you know why I chose this path, Arme?”

he does. to harmonize his dueling powers, to embrace his humanity wholly, fully. but there’s an emotion in those eyes he doesn’t quite understand.

“so I can love you when you can no longer love at all.”

Arme doesn’t answer. there’s no need to. he knows exactly what Erblu wants, exactly what Erblu needs.

Arme brushes Erblu’s hair gently, leans in to place a blessing upon his forehead. a tinkle of a laugh and Erblu leans into him happily, tucks himself contentedly into Arme’s embrace. his wings flutter gently around them like soft petals, his Eids rising like iridescent lanterns above them.

‘love.’

it has no meaning to him anymore. it has no meaning for a being like himself. but for Erblu, it does. so for Erblu, he will accept it.

for Erblu, he will understand.


	114. 127; (modern!au) richter / bluhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 127; Richter / Bluhen
> 
> (modern!au) they wake up to a calm winter morning.

it’s morning.

Richter wakes up with the sun, as it peers from behind the window shades, patterning shadows against the carpet floor. Bluhen’s snoring softly against him, still blissfully asleep, his face nestled into Richter’s fluffy cotton robe. it’s one that Bluhen had chosen for him, a velvet green that matches Bluhen’s sunlit eyes.

Richter slips out of bed silently. Bluhen’s head almost slips down, but Richter nudges a pillow over as a replacement. he walks to the bathroom to freshen up for the day, and in the mirror, he sees notices a tiny braid still pinned loosely against the side of his head.

in the daylight, he can see why the interns gave him weird looks yesterday. the pin itself is a small butterfly, light blue, complete with a tiny tassel. different from what he normally wears, but it’s something Bluhen gave to him. and however brief Bluhen’s visits to the office are, nothing can truly escape gossip-hungry eyes.

well, there’s no reason to remove it. every time Bluhen sees it, the radiance in his smile increases tenfold. so Richter combs his hair neat around it, fixes the braid more firmly against his hair.

Richter dresses and makes a cup of coffee before he returns to the room. sets the cup on the bedside table, before slipping into the bed next to Bluhen again. Bluhen stirs, mumbling incoherently, before stretching in place, shuffling closer to wrap his arms around Richter’s waist. a small yawn of contentment and Bluhen falls asleep again.

Richter places a hand at the back of Bluhen’s neck, pulls his robe up to cover his exposed shoulders, straightens his crooked collar. Bluhen rubs his head against his hand, so Richter moves to stroke his fingers through Bluhen’s messy hair. he linger on the small braid at the side of his head, still pinned up by a crystal green butterfly.

Richter leans down, kisses him gently on the forehead. Bluhen sniffs, opens his eyes, before shifting up to capture Richter’s lips.

when Bluhen pulls away, the sun in those green eyes radiates brightly. “good morning, Richter.”

Richter gives him another kiss, this time to Bluhen’s cheek. Bluhen smiles happily, rubs his head gently into Richter’s.

“no work for you today?”

“took the day off.”

“I’m glad,” Bluhen says, reaches up to thread his fingers through Richter’s hair. a few gentle caresses, before a touch to the blue butterfly. “you’ve been working too much lately.”

“same goes for you,” Richter says, curling his arm securely around Bluhen’s back.

Bluhen sighs, nestles into Richter’s shoulder. “but it was fun! ‘tis the season for scarves and fluffy coats! and I love what everyone’s putting out for their winter line! winter’s always my favorite time of the year.”

“then take some time off to enjoy it.”

Bluhen blinks, before his lips curl into a smile.

“you’re right,” he says with finality, green eyes sparkling gently. “then when we get up, would you like to see the city lights with me?”

there is no question, but Bluhen would still like an answer. so Richter tightens his grasp, lets the calm of the morning color his words. “of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _modern!au feat. Richter and Bluhen_
> 
> Richter is a lawyer, a major partner in his own firm. Bluhen is a fashion designer, occasionally models for his own line. they’re both always busy, but Bluhen takes time to crash at Richter’s law firm randomly and entertain the interns, while Richter takes time off to spend with Bluhen, whether it’s to see a show, to model whatever Bluhen has designed for him, whatever Bluhen has on his mind.


	115. 128; arme / erblu (bluhen), elsword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 128; Bluhen (Erbluhen Emotion), Rune Master (Elsword) (mentioned Arme Thaumaturgy)
> 
> Elsword points out the obvious again. this time, Erblu doesn’t deny it.

Erblu’s taken to stargazing.

every night after everyone retreats to their own rooms, he’d climb out the window and leap onto the roof. every night, he’d lay there, half resting atop his coat, half floating weightlessly, watching the twinkling of distant stars, until the black sky fades pink and the sun chases the night away. every night, secluded under the great vault of the sky, he’d wait.

it’s been a few weeks since that day. a few weeks since they all realized the true meaning of the forgotten sanctum. a few weeks since he realized his resolve to remain at everyone’s side.

a few weeks since he last saw Arme.

he waits.

“oi, Ain.” a casual call, and Erblu stops floating, lands himself on the hard rooftop. from the window, Elsword propels himself up with the force of his runes, scrambling a little on the tiles, before finally clambering onto the space beside him.

“Elsword? isn’t it past your curfew?” but Erblu smiles playfully and Elsword punches him in the arm.

“come on.” but Elsword’s smiling too. “what are you doing up here, Ain? catching a cold?”

“nope! unlike someone here, I have my trusty, fluffy coat with me.” Erblu picks up his coat, bunches it onto his lap, before burying his face into the fur. Elsword rolls his eyes, closes his open shirt self-consciously, and Erblu laughs. “I was just stargazing.”

“right.” Elsword doesn’t believe him. “you totally were.”

Erblu only smiles.

for the past few years, they’ve traveled all over Elrios, fighting, training, growing together. and they’ve all changed-- Elsword, especially. the effusion of the pure El at Elrianode activated something within him, stoked the simmering flames into a resolute fire. he’s still the Elsword Erblu has known, still the joker, but every so often, those red eyes would harden thoughtfully, differently.

like it’s doing right now.

Erblu glances away, turns to look up to the sky. the clouds roll tepidly in from the edges of the horizon, occasionally humming with startling thunder. each flash draws his attention; each rumble makes him shiver.

Erblu’s lied to himself before; he can lie to himself again.

“so where has Arme been?” Elsword props his head against his hand.” I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“probably busy, slaying demons,” Erblu answers easily, winks. “you know, like we should get to doing soon too.”

“and who was complaining about all the training we’ve had the last few weeks?” Elsword raises a brow. “everyone needs breaks. -- except for Arme, I guess.”

Erblu chuckles. so even Elsword noticed Arme’s particular tendency to overexert himself.

“he’s not really human, is he?”

Erblu blinks. Elsword’s looking at him, his red eyes sharp, and Erblu realizes he’s not speaking figuratively. Elsword has refined his connection to the El, so Erblu wouldn’t be surprised if he could now distinguish the aura between human and celestial.

then, Elsword already knows about him too.

“no,” Erblu says lightly. “but I trust him to make it back in one piece. he always does.”

“you’ve been up here for a week already, sitting all by yourself,” Elsword says. Erblu says nothing in response, so Elsword places a hand on his shoulder firmly. “you should go find him.”

Erblu watches the wind tugs at the fur of his coat, at the fabric of his sleeves. “if it comes to it, I will. but he’s been gone for longer. I trust him to return.”

Elsword lets him go, sighs. neither of them say anything for awhile, the stormy winds the only sound.

Elsword breaks the silence. bluntly, he says, “you know, you love him.”

Erblu feels his heart pick up. the last time Elsword confronted him about this, Erblu merely laughed and shrugged it off. this time, he can’t. because Elsword’s right.

“yea.” Erblu admits. pauses. “I do.”

“so why don’t you, you know, go after him?”

“because,” Erblu answers. there’s an emotion in his throat strangling his words. “this... is how he is. he has his own mission, his own direction, his own will. there’s no reason for him to stay with me, but he does so anyway. he’s spoiled me with his presence.”

Elsword’s frowning now. Erblu blinks a little. maybe Elsword noticed it-- his tears.

“you don’t think he loves you back?”

“... no, he can’t. it’s impossible for him.” Erblu pauses, looks down at his hands. it sparkles of power, one no longer wholly of the goddess. “he doesn’t feel or understand emotions the same way we do. and yet, despite it all, he still accepts me for what I have become.”

“more human?”

Erblu can’t look him in the eye. but he nods. “more human.”

he can’t hide it now. maybe, he doesn’t want to.

the sky makes him feel small, insignificant. this is the nature of celestials, of humans, of all things. all things come to an end; all things have the same end. it’s the only solace he has in his singular existence; in the end, everything is all the same.

“so what are you going to do?” a weighty question disguised in Elsword’s casual tone. “when he returns. … or if he doesn’t.”

Erblu shrugs. “I’ll think about it then. there’s no reason to worry about it now.”

as celestials, their time isn’t certain. there are many things he hasn’t understood yet, many things he hasn’t said yet. and he has always been afraid that Arme would never return, that Arme would never come to understand human emotions.

that Arme would never recognize his feelings.

existence is fleeting. his existence is fleeting. how much longer does he have with everyone? how much longer is he allowed to stay? in the sanctum, he resolved that he would cherish the time he has with everyone-- this is his will, this is what he wants.

and so, he will no longer hesitate.

“at the very least, there is one thing I want to do,” Erblu says, folding his hands into a prayer. Elsword looks over, as a single Eid blooms in his palm, radiates a gentle green light. “before Arme-- before _we_ disappear from this world.

“I want to tell him that I love him.”


	116. 129; richter / bluhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 129; Richter / Bluhen
> 
> this is what he wants.

Richter’s lips are cool, touch like glass. the chill bites too sharply and its edges cut too harsh, but Bluhen asked for it-- he asked for it.

and so Richter gave.

Bluhen pulls Richter closer, curls his fingers into his clothes, buries his fingers in his hair, long threads wisping into white celestial strands. Richter has closed his eyes, subsumed himself beneath a veil, but it’s fine, because his celestial body seems more human when his eyes are closed. Bluhen parts to breathe, pausing briefly before leaning up to take Richter’s lips again.

what are they doing? they are no longer celestials, but beings in and of themselves. existences of their own making, bound no longer by the laws of the heaven, created by their own power.

so this is what he wants.

when Bluhen finally pulls away, Richter says nothing, reserved, silent. but passion spares no rational being. born of the cool heavens, unblemished by humanity, Richter has learned nothing of the peculiarities of man. but there’s a breathlessness onto those cheeks, a serenity stolen from his eyes.

there is a comfort in that understanding, a confidence in that knowledge. Richter no longer feels emotion, but Bluhen can still make him _feel_. Bluhen is the only one who can make Richter lose control.

so Bluhen smiles to himself, takes Richter’s lips again. presses his body up against Richter’s form, feels their aura melt together and their power fold into one.

Richter is the immovable moved, the unbreakable broken. Richter, stubborn and steadfast, surrenders himself to it all, surrenders his all.

to Bluhen.

breathe. a power surrounds them, a warmth so familiar, an emotion unraveled. and Bluhen breathes a gentle wish into those lips, stains a color upon the glass.

slowly, Richter precipitates into his human form, his celestial glow fading. Bluhen hums softly, his melody slowing down around him, his passion tamed, for now. when Richter opens his hollow blue eyes, Bluhen smiles, leans in to nudge their noses together. coaxing, beckoning.

so Richter takes his hand, folds their fingers together, before pushing Bluhen down upon the bed, splays his messy gray hair against the sheets. blue strands fall to frame his face, as Bluhen reaches up to hold him, wraps his arms around Richter’s neck, and pulls him down.

 _give me what I want_ , those gentle green eyes dare. smile, even as those blank blue eyes harden into frost.

 _I will_.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listening to:  
> 
>
>> I can't take it, the  
> Aftertaste of the  
> Love we make when you're  
> Lying on the bedroom floor
>> 
>> - [Whethan - Aftertaste (feat. Opia)](https://youtu.be/yHVCjsyr9F0)


	117. 130; erblu / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 130; Lofty Anpassen > Erbluhen Emotion > Bluhen, Lofty Wanderer > Apostasia
> 
> this fragile flower-- he didn’t want to break it.

it lingers, the pooling dread. he wonders when he’s become so used to it, the crippling chaos.

“ah, I finally found you.”

he doesn’t react. he sees barely beyond his fog. but he recognizes it. the bubbling levity, the naive innocence. a smile, shy but kind.

so he doesn’t flinch when it’s pushed into his hands, a small crystal, sparkling. a fragile flower made of glass, its petals flow with an immutable radiance, shimmer with the aloofness of the heavens, but also the comfort of the El. it effuses a soothing strength, yet one still hesitant, still so uncertain. 

in his hands, in his corrupted hands, it would be so easy to--

the world goes cold and he pushes it away.

“don’t--” he barely recognizes his own voice. “ _don’t_.”

“no, I said, I promised, I would find a way to heal you.” a faint trembling, a cautious plea. the other celestial reaches out to touch his hand, corrupted, blackened, consumed entirely by rivers of darkness. wraps those warm hands around his, tries and fails to warm him. “so let me at least _try_.”

it won’t work. he can’t be healed. even though the voice inside him only grows louder, even though the voice that yearns so much to be healed, wants so much to be saved.

but if the celestial of adapting, of harmonizing, of healing-- if the celestial who feels too human, and who still feels so much like the goddess, can still do _nothing_ \--

does he deserve to be saved?

the power that surrounds him, the wish, the hope-- only suffocates him more, and more, and more.

“stop… _stop_.”

the blade of the scythe manifests, sweeps the air around him, and those green eyes light up in surprise. he no longer thinks about how he has it, how he _can_ have it.

because it makes sense, doesn’t it? he is a celestial who has been forgotten by the goddess.

-

the world drifts around him as he drifts. aimlessly, carelessly, as he did in the void. because nothing matters, nothing has mattered since the beginning of existence.

something suddenly pierces through the veil. an echo, a light.

he opens his eyes to see the chaos, dripping webs like vines consuming the landscape, fissuring dark along the ground, a broken fallen figure amidst it all.

shattered wings, fractured light. but he recognizes it, still, the feeling stirring in his hollowed core.

he descends. the threads of chaos catches him as he lands, parts when he reaches for the shattered celestial laying on the ground. the celestial’s run through, broken by errant spikes, projections of his own making. slowly, those eyes open, blurred, dazed, before recognition lights up within them.

bright green. bright enough, lively enough. they reflect his own, blank, melancholic. still, they struggle, shine with a sliver of hope.

a futile hope. shine with hope, still, in pain.

he hears something shatter inside.

“... you… you’re back.”

trembling hands come to cup his face. he sees the tears rolling down those cheeks, feels the tears rolling down his own.

“it’s okay.”

broken words in a broken voice. he sees barely the faint light of shining petals, frail, trembling, disintegrating into the night. a gentle yellow light mends the cracks in the celestial pale skin, but breaks upon his own like holy fire. he lets it burn, because he deserves it.

“see? I’m fine. it’s-- fine.”

it’s not.

the glass flower, its broken petals broken by his hands, has shattered. tiny crystals shard outward, suspended like bleak dust around him, tries so hard to heal.

he remembers now, the reason he left. he didn’t want to destroy this blooming emotion.

“shh, it’s okay.” a quiet, cracked sob. broken hands holds his face, press their foreheads together. holds him close, holds him _here_.

“time… just give me some _time_.”

-

he descends into the landscape, the monotone field painted aglow with colors. there’s a song trilling through the wind. he recognizes it, but the words hum so softly.

he draws nearer.

“ah, you found me.”

a voice, familiar. he can’t trace it. he hasn’t been able to for a long time. but the flower of El has bloomed and a sun smiles upon those lips.

hands, soft, tender, touch his arms, dimples his skin with warmth. his chaos no longer wars with it, yielding to the glowing tendrils of El, tamed.

“come here.”

so he does. arms wrap around him, gentle; a coat wraps around him, kind. a warmth blooms to fill the hollow in his chest long left empty, soothe the cracks in his form.

“see? I said I’d find a way. I promised, remember?”

he does. in the dimmest part of his memories, he remembers an oath, a promise. the Eids surrounding them glows bright, anew.

a laugh, and the embrace tightens, and he returns it, feels the solid, real form in his grasp. clings desperately, though he doesn’t need to. his chaos ripples weakly against celestial grace, wanes in its light.

what is this feeling? a strength, radiant, infused, shines with the color of life.

it's bloomed.


	118. 131; arme (richter) / erblu (bluhen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 131; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Erbluhen Emotion (Bluhen)
> 
> Erblu finds Arme, this time, to tell him something.

the signs of it remain, the shards of creation sprinkled along the sanctum floor. these projection blades used to disintegrate on impact, but it lingers now, glistening with a holy light, carving out a path of righteous destruction.

it leads him deeper into the forgotten sanctum, illuminates the ice precipitating upon the stone walls. it hums with the power of Elia, the same power cycling anew within him. on stone branches icy flowers bloom, all pulsing with the purity of the El.

in the center of the icy glade, he finds a pool of still El. a bright figure stands floating before it, subsumed in a cloak of creation magic.

exactly who he was looking for.

Arme. _Richter_.

Erblu lands onto the sanctum floor, his feather light step breaking gently upon the sanctum floor. Arme shifts, aglow in his celestial form, turns to look at him. blue eyes, cold and empty, regard him impassively.

the emotion in his chest, that clenches and suffocates, threatens to pull him down. he didn’t used to know what it was called or what it meant to feel it. but he does now.

it’s sorrow.

Arme has changed. but so has he.

“Arme.” Erblu steels himself with his will, lifts his eyes up to the purest celestial. “I want to talk to you.”

Arme doesn’t say anything, but Erblu’s used to his celestial form by now. the vigilant silence, the perpetual cold.

“you don’t need to continue alone,” Erblu continues, crafting an Eid upon his finger, lets it twirl in tandem with his power. “I’m strong enough to stand with you, to fight alongside you. Elsword, everyone– we have all become stronger. and it’s because you’ve done so much for us, for me.”

Erblu lets the Eid float before him, before lowers his hand to his side. there’s barely a flicker of recognition in Arme’s eyes, but Erblu meets them anyway.

“for the mission, for the goddess, you continue to fight, without rest. for the entirety of your existence, you’ve existed only for others. you see yourself as nothing but a weapon, a tool, and I… I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Erblu closes his eyes and his power flows outward. colors the air with a shimmering purity, a determined will. takes ahold of his sorrow and fills him with strength. the emotion that gives him the bravery to finally tell Arme exactly how he feels, the emotion that he has never understood before.

“I miss you.” his voice wavers, cracks, but his will does not. “I want you to rest with me. I want you to stay with me. I want you to watch the stars with me. the small things that you always thought were meaningless to celestials had always meant so much to me. because in those moments, I felt as if I was more than what I was created to be. and you…”

he pauses. there are tears at the corner of his eyes and he brushes them away, lowers his hand to his core. feels it pulse, like a heart.

“to me, you will always be Arme. Arme, who is not just a weapon. Arme, who is not merely a tool of the goddess, not just a means to an end. but Arme, who struggled with emotions, Arme, who always tried to understand mine. and I know you still remember– what it’s like to feel human.”

Arme descends before him and the ground rises with crystallized creation magic. his celestial shroud sheds from him like satin petals, a steady power imbuing his form with vivid, human colors. Arme reaches out with a hand to cradle Erblu’s face, touches him with the coolness of divinity, brushes at Erblu’s tears. Arme says nothing still, watching him with a careful tenderness.

Erblu lowers his gaze, curls his fingers into his hand. “I don’t know what else to say. at the very least, I want you to give some time to yourself. to separate yourself from your duty and just _exist_. just because you were created to be a tool doesn’t mean you always have to be one.”

“would it make you happy?”

sudden, but quiet and sincere. Erblu looks up, gazes into his blue eyes. in them, there is a calm clarity, an unusual understanding. ‘happy’. Arme never cared to understand the meaning of emotions, much less _happiness_. Arme only knew his mission, only knew his anger.

but now, Arme asks. asks him whether it would make him _happy_.

would it?

“… yes.”

Erblu opens his hand and Arme places his hand into his. Arme’s hand is cold, but firm, a proof of his existence. his blue eyes are empty, distant, but they’re fixed, focused entirely on him.

a small emotion, a tiny hope unfurls within him.

“then I will.”


	119. 132; anpassen / wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 132; Lofty Anpassen, Lofty Wanderer (+ Lofty Executor, mentions of Apostasia)
> 
> (highschool!au, feat. lofties) Anpassen visits Wander after school.
> 
> _related_ to: [98](http://erstderletzt.tumblr.com/post/164024515539/98)

Wander’s aunt’s home isn’t far, but Anpassen stops by at the neighborhood bakery first. he thought about getting a card instead, but Excie said a card is nothing but useless sentiment.

“get something useful,” ever pragmatic Excie suggested, not looking up from his homework. or, well, Wander’s homework. since they both knew Wander was in no state to concentrate on school. “like lunch, or something. what you always do whenever he gets sick.”

so Anpassen does. his gaze lingers on the special white buns with pointy rabbit ears, so he picks up one of those too. as Anpassen walks to Wander’s home, he hugs the paper bag in front of him, a comfortable warmth against his chest.

Wander’s aunt isn’t there when Anpassen rings the doorbell, so he lets himself in. the house is silent, permeated with a strange cleanliness, so he removes his shoes, tiptoes quietly on the hardwood floor. slowly, he pushes open the door to Wander’s room, peeks inside.

“Wander, are you awake?”

Wander is sitting up in bed, dressed in his pajamas, his phone lying limply in his hand. Wander has his head bowed, his long hair hiding his eyes. but his hand is trembling and his shoulders are shaking. the bandages around Wander’s head is unwinding.

Wander seems so small without his bunny around.

Anpassen places the paper bag onto the bedside table, scooting the medicine out of the way. Wander’s blanket has fallen limply half off his shoulder, so Anpassen reaches over to drape the blanket onto Wander’s shoulders again.

“… useless, pathetic. I…”

a choked sob. Anpassen blinks, as Wander grasps his phone tightly, and notices, it’s covered in teardrops.

“sorry.” a tiny voice. “my… my brother’s not answering me.”

Apos. Wander’s brother. the person who gave him Ishy in the first place.

“Aunt called him before I woke up, so he probably thinks I’m dead again.” his voice is hollow, broken. “he’s going to do something drastic and stupid and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

Wander’s crying, but he isn’t looking up. Anpassen can see the tears trail down his cheek, roll down to his chin. Anpassen reaches over, touches the hand holding his phone.

“you sent him a message, right?”

“yes. but he ignores everything when he’s…” Wander trails off, his eyes distant, glazed. Anpassen squeezes his hand. “I lost Ishy. how am I going to tell him I lost Ishy?”

“he’s your brother,” Anpassen tries, “I’m sure he would rather see you alive and healthy–”

“but Ishy was–” Wander breaks off, but Anpassen doesn’t need to be told. Ishy was a promise– a promise that his brother would return for him, a promise that he wouldn’t be abandoned. because Wander has been abandoned once before.

that’s why Wander brought Ishy wherever he went. that’s why Wander jumped into the freezing water after Ishy was thrown into the river. that’s why Wander wanted to go back for her, even after Excie dragged him out of the water.

Anpassen didn’t understand it. Excie did, a little better. “maybe it’s because he values Ishy more than his own life.”

“isn’t it ridiculous? how much our lives hang upon a thread? how much of our lives relies on a stupid, stupid bunny?” Wander chokes out. “we are so– _pathetic_.”

he can't think of anything to say. but he should do something at least. so Anpassen slides onto the bed, wraps his arm around Wander’s shoulders. Wander hiccups, but he doesn’t push him away. 

eventually, Wander’s cries turn into broken sighs. Wander tries to pry himself away, but Anpassen refuses to let go, so Wander curls his hand, refuses to look up. like he's embarrassed or ashamed. but Wander shouldn't be.

Anpassen's gaze drifts toward the package of bread again, and he perks up, leans over to take out a bun. Anpassen opens Wander’s hand slowly, finger by finger, placing the rabbit-shaped bun in his palm.

“here, you haven’t eaten yet today, have you, Wander?”

Wander merely gazes at the bun, before taking it into both hands. he folds his shoulders in, tries to make himself seem smaller.

then: “you don’t have to do this for me, Anpassen. you don’t have to hang out with someone as miserable as me.”

“you’re my friend, so I want to…” Anpassen says, searching for the words. “I just want to see you happy.”

Wander doesn’t look at him and the words hang there, still in the silence.

but Anpassen hugs him tightly, tries to infuse his emotions into his action. Wander doesn’t resist anymore, resigning to Anpassen’s embrace, and lays his head into Anpassen’s shoulder. 

maybe, one day, Anpassen could give Wander something he has never had before.

some of his warmth. some of his happiness.

some of his love.

somehow, he hopes, one day, Wander will understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _highschool!au (feat. lofties, wander’s story)_
> 
> Wander is a high school student, frequently ill and bullied. Apos is his older brother by seven years, living alone near the university with little to no motivation to attend classes. abandoned by their parents when they were young, they fended for themselves until Apos went to college and left Wander to stay with their aunt.
> 
> Ishy originally belonged to Apos. Apos gave Ishy to Wander when they were little, a silent promise to Wander that Apos won’t abandon him too.


	120. 133; arme / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 133; Arme Thaumaturgy / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (canon divergence) long after the original Elrios disappears, they continue to wander, lost celestials, twin souls.

a gentle breeze cascades across the plains, a pure landscape begotten of the El. it’s a far cry from the ravaged landscape they escaped, a long distance from the shattered world they sought to save. so they rest against the giant tree of El, the power of the earth infusing them with warmth, with healing.

they’ve been wandering for a long time, without a purpose, without a plan. it’s a miracle Arme remains resilient, but Erblu never once doubted him. even untethered from the goddess, Arme still draws his strength from his conviction, his will so impenetrable, so impossibly steadfast. but for Erblu, the only thing Erblu ever wanted was for them to be together.

it’s been a long time since they rested, ages and worlds ago. Erblu feels the arms around him tighten, and he smiles a little, _knows_.

“hey, Arme, it’s nice to see the sunlight again, isn’t it?”

he raises his finger to the sky, prods a Rein Eid into being. it drifts into the air, as flecks of projection magic surround them, descend like gentle snowflakes.

“save your strength, Erblu.”

his voice is quiet, unlike him. shakes, unlike him. Erblu gazes at the sky, watches the trails of clouds dust across the sky. the winds course through the grass, at peace.

Erblu holds his palm up, lets his cycle magic gather within his hand. quickly, before another Eid could bloom, a gloved hand takes his, curls between his fingers. he feels it trembling, minutely.

Erblu smiles. “I can’t heal you if you’re going to keep stopping me.”

“Erblu, stop.”

sharp, like him, like broken glass. when he looks up into Arme’s face, he sees the usual frown on Arme’s face, sees tears at the edge of his eyes. when he raises a finger, brushes it against Arme’s cheek, Arme looks away.

“come on now, Arme,” Erblu takes his face, traces his thumb gently over the cracks. “you’re hurting, aren’t you?”

Arme doesn’t look at him. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not. come on, let me.” Erblu takes his hand from Arme and Arme yields reluctantly, curling his arms even tighter around him. “if there’s anything left I can do, it’s this, isn’t it?”

“you’ve done enough.”

“I haven’t. not yet.”

with the third Eid, Erblu breathes, wills himself to summon the last of his power. hums gently under his breath, allows the Rein to unfold around them like a warm blanket. he lets out a sigh, shifts a little to snuggle up in Arme’s embrace.

it’s tight, holds him there. even though he feels like light, even though he feels like nothing at all.

he smiles, or he thinks he is. “it’s… warm, isn’t it, Arme?”

the tears are falling again. it doesn’t look right on Arme’s face. “it is.”

Erblu closes his eyes. “good.”

“… Erblu, I don’t understand.”

“hm?”

“this feeling. the one you’ve always tried to show me.” there’s something strange in that voice. something unusual, something unlike Arme. “what is it? I want to give it back to you.”

“this feeling?”

“the one you use to make _Rein_.”

“do you want to make it too?”

“yes.”

Erblu feels fingers wrap gently around his hand and something firm press tenderly against his core. feels his heart soar, for one last time.

“then sing with me, Arme.

“sing until your emotions bloom.”

…

the transience of existence. the warmth of emotion. what he could have had, but never did. what he was never meant to have, but Erblu gave to him.

for a brief moment, Arme accepts it. he looks to the sky, at the eminent expanse, charts in the bleak dawn the faded constellations of their journey. happiness, sadness. joy, pain. in a moment of weakness, he allows it to fill this vessel– and overflow.

this thing called emotion, celestials were never created to hold.

Arme closes his eyes, wills one last time. the wish he could never grant, Erblu’s selfish– selfless wish.

for him to understand.

so finally, he does. finally, he lets go.

finally, he lets this last sparkle of light fade away.


	121. 134; arme / apos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 134; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia
> 
> Apos wants something. what is it?

Apos is watching him.

or rather, he’s staring silently at a fixed point in front of him, as he usually does, his hollow green eyes unblinking, unflinching. unnerving. Arme pushes the feeling aside and concentrates on tending the air above Apos’s corrupted arm, patterning a crystal lace between the spaces in his skin.

they’re two celestials created by the goddess. one who channels the divine power of the goddess and one who dredges up black pools of the chaos. fundamentally incompatible, to say nothing of the the wrenching pain-- for them both.

but Apos still comes to him.

so Arme lets him stay.

when Arme pulls his hand away, the creation magic fizzles painfully against Apos’s skin, stained a midnight blue by chaos. briefly, Arme looks up, sees Apos’s eyes still focused directly on him. emotionless. it’s disquieting, Apos’s composure. because Arme remembers when the chill of Henir’s power made him scream.

well. there’s little else he can do. Arme releases Apos’s arm and it drops limply to his side. Apos moves his fingers hesitantly, gathers the bedsheets experimentally, before letting go again. the chaos riots already, making the white projection magic its own. a storm rises in Apos’s empty eyes, before fading a deep, unreadable black again.

Apos is still staring. his expression hasn’t changed. it is not pained or anguished, stubborn or fierce. Apos just is. blank, an empty canvas. Arme can’t understand it, though he knows, there is something Apos wants.

and it was not just healing.

Apos shifts, raises his uninjured arm. Arme blinks, before he feels Apos’s fingers touch his cheek. cautiously, as if Apos was afraid he’d break. the wisps of chaos tickles hot against his skin, but Arme doesn’t move, lets the touch meander against his cheek, lest the chaos plunge indelibly into his form.

a thumb brushes against his temple. Arme stares into Apos’s eyes, still seemingly unseeing, as if he can decrypt Apos’s thoughts. as if he can sense Apos’s emotions, see through the hazy darkness Apos’s intentions and desires. knuckles caress a strand of his hair.

before Arme can react, Apos has leaned in and pressed his lips to his forehead. it burns, something on his skin, in his cheeks. Apos pulls away, something in the light of his eyes. dancing, curious.

“... Apos.” Arme places his hand on his forehead, but he senses nothing but a lingering ghost. Apos is no longer staring at him, looking down now at his arm, his repaired fingers flexing idly. a fog floats between those fingers, covers the glistening blue crystal with ink black, until it appears as it did before. Apos closes his hand into a loose fist, before turning to gaze up at him, eyes black with emotion.

“Arme.” a low purr, deep in his throat. Apos slides closer to him, curling his legs into his chest, and leans onto him. a tempered chaos, a solid form. Apos rubs his head into Arme’s shoulder, pauses again, waits.

so Arme wraps his arms around him, carefully because the glass of chaos surrounding Apos would cut him otherwise. Apos stills, rests against him, and those eyes close. serene. strange.

Apos seems… pleased.

Arme doesn’t understand. but Apos doesn’t seem to need him to.


	122. 135; herrscher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 135; Herrscher
> 
> a reflection.

his body lay in sundered pieces around him. given up, perhaps, stopped. eyes unseeing glow with a haunt dredged from the abyss, ribbons of chaos formed of his essence, spooling, unspooling, winding, unwinding. yielding, unyielding.

does he breathe? but the air shudders.

broken, perhaps. but he has no need for wholeness. the final state of everything is nothing, everything that becomes becomes not.

a slow, simmering silence. he pulls himself together, carelessly, thoughtlessly. fabric fold into thin fingers, pick up the pieces of himself. his hand, his foot-- though he no longer needs the charade. 

does he feel? the pain that burned the form he was given has burned out. his divinity shattered, his humanity stolen, his core returned to the beginning of everything that was--

light, or darkness. chaos, perhaps.

in this state, can order rule him? can emotion reach him? words fall infinitely into the emptiness, breaks upon the realization of futility.

perhaps, fear? but he is chaos itself and he no longer fears what he has become.

is he Apostasia? celestial abandoned by the goddess, soul consumed by the void?

no. but finally, he rules it.  



	123. 136; erblu / apos (herrscher)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 136; Erbluhen Emotion / Apostasia (Herrscher)
> 
> Apos is different now.

a coiling pit of darkness greets him at the center. blighted beings, shattered souls, soundless howls rippling across the space, their fear trembling through his core. the ground bubbles like ravaged ooze, reaches futilely for a pale being floating idly above its center.

“… Apos?”

a glance. white hair ripples out, shimmers with an iridescent luster. he recognizes it a little, the blank countenance, the irreverent gaze. but the scythe in those hands is bone white.

one of those white hands open, gathers up the dredges of darkness. it all dissipates into nothing. the power repels him, sickens him a little. but he understands and he doesn’t, because he’s felt this when he fell into the gap of time and space. this, the absence of anything at all– the void.

the white fades and black ribbons unfurl open. the scythe disappears too, morphing into a dark orb. gray hair falls into a glowing green eye, before black crystals gathers his hair back, revealing broken fragments where the left half of his face used to be.

“… Erblu.”

the voice is hoarse, rough. but the meaning is there. beckons.

so Erblu takes a few hesitating steps forward.

“what… happened, Apos?” Erblu looks from the haunted eye to the writhing mass of emptiness below his neck. the emptiness in his chest holds a strange black orb, pulsating like a twisted heart. “what happened to your body…? – what happened to you?”

Apos blinks slowly, as he usually does. then, as if in explanation, he says, “it doesn’t matter. it’s only broken.”

“then,” Erblu says, gathering a gentle light of Rein. “I can help you. I’ll stay with you as you fix it.”

“I don’t need to,” comes the simple answer. Erblu doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to, so he holds the Eid tightly in his hands.

he understands, in a way. their human body was only a tool, given to them to complete their mission. a container that held their core, a vessel moved by their essence. and Apos’s form was long corrupted by the curse of Henir, so if Apos wanted to discard it, he could.

after all, Apos’s core shattered long ago. so what part of Apos is even left?

“… are you worried?”

“of course.” but Apos never asks him this, Apos never asks him questions.

Apos tilts his head. “… why?”

“because… because.” Erblu gazes up at him into his remaining eye. it’s lit with a delicate curiosity, an unnatural light. but there’s no pain anymore, no tortured haze. Erblu opens his hand, lets the Eid glow before him, and the tendrils of darkness gather around it, cradle it like a lantern. the void consumes the air around the Eid, but the tiny light still dances in Erblu’s hands.

Erblu doesn’t understand. “doesn’t it hurt…?”

“no,” Apos answers. the fluttering ribbons bellow gently, comes to close around Erblu’s hand loosely. “not anymore.”

“I see,” Erblu says. he doesn’t.

he doesn’t know what else to say, so he lets a silence fill the gap. Apos seems content to let the black ribbons flutter around them, as if they too delighted in Rein’s gentle aura.

but he…

“… Erblu?”

“hm?” Erblu blinks, but he can’t help the tears falling from his eyes. a touch to his cheek, neither warm nor cold, neither soft nor hard. it’s a sensation indescribable, simply because it doesn’t feel _real_.

the ribbons wrap around him and he’s gathered up, loosely in a pulsing fluid mass. it tickles him, strangely, but comforts him still. even though he was always the one who comforted Apos before.

his Rein flickers. the shroud of chaos gather around him, curious, attentive. Erblu curls his hand closed, but grasps only air.

he wants something–  _anything_ of Apos’s to hold.

finally, Erblu says, voice quiet, “… I… I want to hold your hand, Apos.”

a pause, then movement. slowly, something nudges into his palm. wraps around his fingers. a hand, an emptiness bound together by the black tendrils– but still, a hand. Erblu looks up, finally.

Apos looks more solid now. his torso, arms, his legs have taken a more human shape, formed out of black ribbons. it lends him a sense of being, of existence. though Erblu knows better.

there’s a hollow in his chest, still. but that had always been empty. Erblu looks up at Apos’s face and Apos’s single eye observes him, watchful.

Erblu raises a hand to touch Apos’s cheek. it’s not warm, but it’s there, a familiar paleness. his other cheek is missing, but when Apos notices Erblu’s gaze, a thick ribbon slides in hide the gap.

Erblu rests his hand on Apos’s shoulder. it gives a little, as if surprised, but Erblu can feel Apos’s arms wrapping around him gently, soothing. Erblu can hear his own heart beating restlessly in his chest, but from Apos, he hears nothing.

but Apos is still here.

a kiss to his temple. one that he had always given Apos before. one that seemed to comfort Apos, one that comforts him now. it’s peaceful now, tamed, the absence that is the void. it’s nothing like the erratic corruption that consumed Apos’s form, nothing like the icy abyss that surrounded Apos before.

it is now only nothingness.

Erblu closes his eyes tiredly, buries his face into Apos’s shoulder. Apos wraps his arms tightly around him, surrounds him with an eerie quiet, the most tender calm. it lulls him, unbidden.

the power to heal him, to save him…

is it something he can still wish for?  



	124. 137; arme / apos (herrscher)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 137; Arme Thaumaturgy / Apostasia (Herrscher)
> 
> it’s a strange peace Apos has found.

he finds Apos as he always does, lying in a pool of cursed chaos. his form broken into pieces, corruption spread further, entire pieces of his body disintegrated into nothing. abandoned, aimless, and yet still, still in existence.

Apos gave up long ago, and yet this form refuses to cease to exist.

so Arme descends into the pool, the plume of chaos particulate mere dust in his grace. the chaos bubbles like thick sludge, seems to rise up to catch him, but when he lands upon it and kneels next to the broken body that is Apos, the fluid parts reverently around his presence.

the chaos is no longer oppressive, now merely a silent emptiness, uncanny. Arme raises his hand to touch Apos’s brow, tracing his creation power over the cracks in his forehead, before brushing his hair aside to reveal the left half of his face. Arme stops, curls his fingers hesitantly. because Apos’s face shattered completely, his left eye all but gone.

Apos stirs, opens his right eye. it’s hollow, empty, burns with an ethereal glow. unworldly. as if his celestial power still shines through this broken human form of his.

“... Arme,” comes Apos’s quiet whisper. then slowly, tendrils of chaos rise, wrap itself around Arme’s wrist. like a hand, Arme recognizes. -- but Apos’s entire left arm is gone. “... you’re here.”

“I am,” Arme says. he tries to pull his hand away, but the chaos remains, steadfast. “what are you doing?”

Apos isn’t looking at him anymore, gaze fixed on Arme’s hand, still aglow with a divine mending power. Apos closes his eyes and Arme can feel the grasp on his hand loosen, resigned.

“... you don’t need to. not anymore.”

Arme lets the power in his hand flickers out. “you have forgiven yourself.”

a long silence. then Apos inclines his head. “... yes. because I understood.”

Arme watches him as Apos sits up, gathers the pieces of himself slowly. his control over chaos is calmer now, the rippling ribbons flowing with a languid ease. the tendrils flutter into a form resembling a human body.

even though it no longer is.

“not all things deserve salvation… or judgment,” Apos starts, his voice tense, brittle. “but all things… _end_. the abandoned… the forgotten… the broken…”

himself, Apos doesn’t say. but Arme knows.

“everything… has a place. until this world disappears and all of the things within it, I will remain. so I will wait... and watch. until the end, when it all melts away. this world… this form… you.”

“I know,” Arme says simply.

“you know.” Apos repeats. he tilts his head a little, a tiny curious gesture. “... then do you accept my existence?”

his existence. his corruption. Arme shifts his fingers slightly, still caught in the tendrils of chaos. he grasps it, feels a tentative pressure on his palm in return.

was it ever a question? Apos, who is a celestial, himself, from another, much more broken world. Apos, who succumbed to the corruption that plagued him, fractured and shattered by the void that sought to consume him. Apos, who lays before him now, broken, given up entirely to the chaos, and yet, now finally, assuredly at peace with himself.

Arme has never forgotten. Apos’s fate could have so easily been his.

so he answers, “I always have.” 

Arme closes his eyes, feels those hollow hands wrap themselves around his hand. Apos’s touch no longer stings, the chaos’ callous strength now fully his own. it flickers like mere threads now, tickles lightly upon his skin.

so this is it. a found peace in the abyss, a new purpose out of the chaos. what Apos realized, what Apos finally accepted. 

there is a place for those who wander.

for awhile, he meditates, allows his creation aura to meld with the swirling chaos. his power remains resolute, the chaos in accompaniment. creation, destruction. order, chaos. neither can exist without the other.

Arme feels something press inquisitively upon his lips, opens his eyes to see Apos’s gaze fixed him. emotion curls peculiarly in that hollow eye, and Apos continues to trace his phantom fingers over Arme’s lips.

Arme doesn’t understand. but finally, he asks, “why?”

Apos doesn’t blink, doesn’t pull away. he leans in, casually, inexplicably, takes Arme’s lips in his own. when Apos pulls back, Arme can see no hunger in his eye, no thirst.

only playfulness, of some sort. a fleeting curiosity.

“there is no meaning in existence,” Apos answers and does not. “except the purpose we make for ourselves.”

“yes.” Arme furrows his brow, as Apos touches his cheek, cradles it gently. “but why are you--”

Apos leans in again, presses a kiss onto his lips. presses his tongue past his lips, prying, probing. Arme pulls himself away, covers his mouth with his hand, but he sense only a lingering emptiness. still, his core pulses, erratic; still, his face flushes, unwilling.

Arme looks up and Apos smiles, a small, faint smile. strange. satisfied. unsettling.

“so curious…”  


… what?  



	125. 138; apos, herrscher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 138; Apostasia, Herrscher
> 
> he meets _himself_ , one who is no longer controlled by the void but rather, who rules it.

it’s broken– all broken, this world he’s destroyed.

so it is into a broken world that it falls.

a reckoning finally, an end to this cursed existence.

 _no._ a voice echoes. words push into his mind. _this is not the end._

he looks up. in the depth of darkness, he sees a being descend before him, cloaked black with rippling chaos. it’s broken, broken, corrupted, cursed, the turmoil smoldering within him, unrelenting, unending, so he flicks out his hand and orbs of chaos begin to form.

but before they form, they break. they shatter into dust. a glowing orb rises in place, foreboding. from it, a scythe gleams with a deep radiance, drips with intent. descends to strike.

he forms his own scythe instinctively, but the tendrils multiply before he can react. they pierce him, strangle him, cage him, subdue him, and when he gazes up into the haunted, glowing eye, he gazes into abyss itself.

 _Herrscher_.

ribbons of darkness coil at his throat. the being observes, irreverently, carelessly, as broken orbs surround it like haunted lanterns. the chaos that restrain him still instead, the blade of the scythe linger contemplatively at his neck.

and then, it simply drops away. the being comes closer. fingers form of the chaos, pinch his chin. it turns him to face the absent green eye and he strains as it bores into him, picks his memory apart. the destruction that tore him into pieces, the corruption that poisoned his form. the emptiness that ate away his core, the chaos that replaced his light. the goddess… the goddess…

the goddess who left him, a mere shell of an existence.

the fingers let go and he turns his head away. does he remember resentment? does he remember shame? the restraints draw away, but the air around him remains stilted, frozen. unfamiliar. because the chaos around him is not his own, rumbles instead with a slumbering calm.

_still burdened by the gods._

the voice. empty, emotionless.

_still at the mercy of humanity._

the being grabs ahold of his left arm and yanks him upward. it twists unnaturally and he can feel his shoulder shatter and scream. he tries to grab what is holding him up, but even there he finds only chaos– only a chaos more powerful than his own.

_discard it._

… how? _how_? the being of pure chaos watches him, silent, indifferent. he moves his fingers, tries to pull it out of its grasp, but it cracks from the pressure. his hand, his arm. it breaks… he _breaks_.

he can’t. he has known nothing else but that which were given to him– his existence as a ball of light, his existence as a human. a mere celestial, even one so broken as he, couldn’t have known anything else.

then, it stops. a sudden stillness. the darkness sweeps him up, flutters gently against his corrupted skin. he hesitates, because peace is something he is not allowed to have. a chaos fully realized, it consumes him, drips black into his skin, seizes the broken core in his chest and shatters it too. he thrashes, trapped within the darkness, his breath rattling in the confines of this body. he is too weak, this form is too broken.

a hand formed of chaos comes to touch the back of his head. it feels like the cradle of his creation, a false promise of a rebirth. but it is an embrace all the same. a comfort in this lightless well.

he feels his form precipitating into nothing, scattering into the void. the pain, the agony– it all disappears. everything becomes nothing, everything that is created is destroyed. everything within him is born out in waves, becomes an existence far beyond what he has ever been–

numbness. emptiness. it fills this broken vessel, this forsaken creation.

when he wakes, he sees nothing but silence. the being remains, a bellowing chaos next to him. a hollow ball of darkness floats before it, submerged in an eerie glow. around them, there is nothing but darkness, nothing but the bleak pulse of his core.

he knows now. this being is _himself_ , his future. his future, who is so powerful, so at ease with his power. his future, who is no longer one controlled by the void, no longer a puppet of the chaos, but rather the one who rules it.

it no longer hurts. at least, it no longer pains him. when he tries to curl his hand, he grasps nothing. … he has no hand. when he wills it to move, it prickles with phantom sensation, pretends that he has control…

no… he _still_ has control.

the being does not speak. but within him, he hears.

_realize… understand. even at the end, you will still remain._


	126. 139; (modern!au) richter / bluhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 139; Richter / Bluhen
> 
> (modern!au, in which Bluhen is a fashion designer and Richter is a lawyer.) Richter spends an afternoon at _Harmonie Designs_.

the afternoon sun filters in through glass windows, brushing the sloping walls with a gentle glow. in the center of the room is a set, a white background decorated with fabric flowers, all pastel red, yellow, and blue. a two painted stools are positioned in front of the cameras and a girl in a flowing white dress is perched upon one, her long brown hair tumbling down her bare back. she holds a bouquet of pure white flowers, fidgets with it nervously as the designer checks in with the cameraman.

his name is Bluhen Harmonie, the lead designer of _Harmonie Designs_. in the warm light, his satin shirt and slacks glow white, accenting the chamomile flower pin clasped on his ruffled black tie. a soft gold feather is tied to his tiny braid, an epitome of carefree purity, an embodiment of _Harmonie_ ’s philosophy himself: all innocent charm, all gentle grace.

on the sofa next to the set, Richter rests silently, watching Bluhen as the designer flutters from the cameras back to the set. a seasonal lookbook sits idly in Richter’s lap, a customary gift from the studio assistants who never really know what to do with this visitor. a man as sharp as glass, as frozen as ice, even though he’s in an ensemble Bluhen himself designed for him. a soft white three piece, a lightly patterned vest, cuffs lined with delicate lace, and a powder blue tie. -- the color of his eyes, Bluhen pointed out.

on the set, Bluhen finishes rearranging the props, finally turning to size up the model.

“chin up, Vishy, darling,” Bluhen says, lifts up the girl’s chin with a careful nudge of his finger. “you’re looking too timid for this.”

Vishy straightens her back, her brown eyes brightening. “um, something like this?”

“yes, that’s closer to what we want. an elegant simplicity, a daring charm. woo the man behind the camera, or--” Bluhen gathers a lock of black hair in his fingers. “if you’re too shy for that, you can try me.”

Bluhen presses his lips against her hair tenderly and Vishy’s cheeks flush a bright pink. her eyes dart toward Richter hesitantly, but Richter only continues to watch them both, seemingly unfazed.

“Bluhen!” Vishy whispers loudly, “your fiancé is right there!”

“that’s never stopped me before, darling.” Bluhen winks and lets go of her, as Vishy stares at him, dismayed. “I hope the camera can capture how lovely you look right now.”

Vishy squeaks, buries her face in her bouquet of flowers, embarrassed. “Bluhen!”

Bluhen smiles a serene, gentle smile, before turning back to the cameras. snaps his fingers decisively. “alright, let’s get the show started.”

Bluhen supervises the photoshoot for a few minutes after it begins in earnest, but eventually, he flutters to the side of the set, comes to perch on the armrest next to Richter.

“Vishy’s doing a lot better now than when she first started,” Bluhen says, his green eyes sparkling kindly. “remember when we met her? has it already been three months? her agent was about to let her go.”

“your charisma helps,” Richter observes.

“I’m glad it does! she does enjoy working with us,” Bluhen says. “she was really shy at first, but when she finally opened up, she’s stunning in her own right. I suppose, in the end, a flower only needs a bit of sunlight to bloom.”

Richter hums in acknowledgement. “just like you.”

Bluhen blinks, but Richter only checks his phone, oblivious. a secret smile unfurls on Bluhen’s lips, as he leans over into Richter’s space.

“you know, she said _fiancé_.” Bluhen reaches over to take Richter’s hand, traces his thumb over the ring on Richter’s finger. he brings Richter’s hand to his lips. “it makes me feel so happy, because it means you’re mine.”

Richter looks up at him, stares at him blankly. but then he says, “I have always been yours.”

“oh. _oh_ , just _ruin_ me already, my darling.”

“you’re at work, Bluhen.”

“and when has that stopped me?” Bluhen smiles teasingly. “you don’t come here often, so let me enjoy this a little. give me a kiss, Richter.”

Richter obliges, leans up to press his lips tenderly on Bluhen’s cheek. Bluhen sighs a happy sigh, before wrapping his arms around Richter’s shoulders and draping onto him. Richter shifts to accommodate him, before realizing that the camera flashes on the set have stopped.

Richter nudges his cheek against Bluhen’s. “they’re looking at you, Bluhen.”

“let them look. let them watch.” Bluhen hums, a faint pout on his lips. “let me have this, Richter.”

Bluhen pinches Richter’s chin and turns his face toward him, catches Richter’s lips tenderly in his own. it’s long, heartfelt, because Bluhen always pours his whole heart into his kisses. when they part, there’s a faintest of pink on Richter’s cheeks, and Bluhen can’t help but smile and give him another kiss.

“are you done?” Richter asks, his voice a bit quieter than usual. “they’re waiting for you.”

Bluhen only hugs him tighter. “you’ve waited for me all morning.”

“they’re waiting for you to get back to work.”

“alright, alright.” Bluhen smiles, finally hops off the sofa. he looks to see half of his staff abruptly turn away, varying degrees of embarrassment on their faces. Vishy has already slid off the stool, waiting nervously to be dismissed from the set. “oh, they’re done. now then, Richter!”

“hm?”

Bluhen takes Richter’s hand, tugs him upward, radiates with the brightness of the sun. “you know I don’t miss a chance to get you to model for me.”

Richter sighs, but stands anyway, grasping Bluhen’s hand firmly. “why? you don’t ever use my pictures.”

“what did I say, my darling?” Bluhen smiles, his green eyes smoldering. “I want you to model for _me_.”

Richter blinks at him blankly, before leaning in to peck him quickly on the nose. Bluhen squeezes his eyes shut and laughs, his mouth pinched in a happy smile.

“ah, you’re so cute, Richter.”

when Richter pulls away, Bluhen holds his hand tighter, lets it linger. then, quietly, so that only Richter can hear, he whispers, “thank you.”

for everything.

Richter doesn’t reply, only leans in again to press his lips against Bluhen’s forehead, instills a more tender blessing. Bluhen smiles, more softly this time and more honestly. he tucks his hand into Richter’s, folds their fingers together.

in the gentle silence between them, a warm love blooms.


	127. 140; (modern!au) richter / herrscher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 140; Richter / Herrscher
> 
> (modern!au) it’s a quiet evening at Richter’s home.

dusk climbs like slumber over the twinkling cityscape, as Richter opens the door to his apartment, the bright hallway lights spilling into the hazy darkness of the room. he hangs his coat and stows his case in the closet, before nudging the curtains opens, letting the pale pink sunlight filter in through the windows.

far above the rumble of the city streets, its blinking lights, and ubiquitous sirens, the apartment sits, a perfectly quiet, meticulously arranged sanctuary. Richter lets the water boil in the kitchen as he showers, and then returns to make his regular evening tea. alone, he sits at the living room couch and sips his tea. waits.

the door clicks, almost noiselessly. Richter looks at the time-- half past ten-- and sets his tea down onto the coffee table, waits for the figure of darkness drifts from the doorway over to him. he feels the sensation of lips against his forehead and the couch dipping beside him, and when Richter opens his eyes, Herrscher is picking the teacup gently with a gloved hand. he raises it to his lips, lets the steam puff into his nose.

“jasmine as usual,” Richter provides.

“smells like you,” Herrscher says. he doesn’t drink the tea. “good evening, Richter.”

Richter says nothing in return, but places a hand against Herrscher’s back, traces the curve of his spine upward. in a few precise movements, he fixes Herrscher’s suit collar, roughed up somehow, during his work. Richter never asks what happened to him or what Herrscher did, because in their line of work, it’s impossible for their spheres of influence not to collide. so it’s better for them to say nothing at all.

in Herrscher’s hands, the tiny porcelain cup glows in the dimness. Herrscher sets it down again, comes to rest his head onto Richter’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. after a moment, Richter takes Herrscher’s hands, removes his gloves one by one, presses his thumbs into his palm, feeling familiarly the thick scar running along his skin.

though Richter no longer truly feels the guilt. after all, it was merely his job.

“sleeping here tonight?” Richter asks. nudges him carefully. Herrscher doesn’t stir and Richter almost thinks he’s already drifted off.

“... yes,” Herrscher answers. rubs his head against Richter’s shoulder idly.

“shower?”

a silence. then Richter feels the press of lips trail up from his shoulder, dip into the crook of his neck, and press against his throat. Richter remains still until Herrscher tilts his chin, presses their lips together, captures them for a long, thorough kiss. Herrscher’s right eye flutters open and Richter raises a hand up to tuck a finger under the eyepatch over his other eye, before slowly sliding the cloth up and off. Richter cups his cheek, trails his thumb over the old scarring sealing his left eye shut, and Herrscher opens his mouth, pulls away to nip at his finger.

Herrscher wraps his arms around Richter, tucks himself against Richter, fits themselves like they’re puzzle pieces. a momentary rejection almost, of what they are. equals. opposites.

though, it is not forbidden if there is no one to forbid it.

Richter tickles his fingers through Herrscher’s long hair, straightens it strand by strand, removes the needles holding it up. Herrscher holds him, hands stroking along his back, feeling up his waist. mapping, memorizing each curve in his body. when Herrscher finally settles against him again, Richter rests his lips against Herrscher’s forehead, imparting a simple blessing.

“shower,” Richter says firmly, “then we can sleep.”

“mm.”

but Herrscher’s grip only tightens and the glint in his eyes only wishes. a fleeting want, a flash of desire, but Herrscher turns away and says nothing else. he doesn’t need to, because Richter already understands.

Richter takes Herrscher’s hand, folds their fingers together. a solidarity, a mutual truce. the still serenity of tonight, it’s something neither of them wants to let go.  



	128. 141; richter (arme) / bluhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 141; Richter (Arme Thaumaturgy) / Bluhen
> 
> Richter reverts back into his old form. the one that has a little bit of humanity.

Richter is back early.

Bluhen can feel his aura from the outside of the room. he opens his bedroom door a peek to see a celestial lying on the sheets of the bed, icy blur creation ribbons rising from his form. prone, still, Richter's body shifts little as he breathes. it’s been a long time since Richter actually rested like this.

the door clicks shut quietly and Bluhen floats silently over to the bed. when he sits himself on the bed, Richter doesn’t move, remaining curled away from him. there’s a strange mask of exhaustion in his aura, so Bluhen touches his shoulder lightly, curls his fingers through his hair. his hair is shorter too. hm, did Richter cut it?

“... Bluhen.”

Richter attempts to wake, but the overhanging slumber clings onto his limbs.

“not feeling well, Richter?” Bluhen cups his cheek, tilts Richter’s face to face his. stops when he realizes there’s a peculiar light in those blue eyes, an emotion. -- anxiousness.

it’s been awhile since Richter’s eyes reflected emotion.

Richter closes his eyes again and Bluhen summons his Rein.

“looks like you got yourself into some trouble, Richter,” Bluhen laughs lightly. he crawls onto the bed alongside Richter, moves Richter’s head onto his lap with little difficulty. Richter hums absently as his body relaxes into the gentle warmth of Rein. “your form has reverted.”

Bluhen remembers it clearly. Richter had emotion once-- as _Arme Thaumaturgy_. wrath, mostly, righteous anger. more rarely, uncertainty. pain. Richter shed all of that when he ascended and left his human side behind. it took awhile for Bluhen to understand, took even longer for him to accept.

not all celestials want emotion, after all.

so this, this-- Bluhen thinks as he flutters his fingers through Richter’s brilliant blue hair-- he’ll appreciate. the relaxed knit of Richter’s brow, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. the fact that he does breathe. he never realized Richter’s true form never needed to breathe. his true form is like some inhuman glass, while this form… is still so human.

Bluhen smiles a little, leans down to tickle his nose against Richter’s hair.

“I love you,” Bluhen says casually, happily.

“I know,” Richter answers as he usually does. but there’s an unnatural tightness where there is usually careless ease, a lost light when Richter opens his eyes. and Bluhen can feel the pulse of his core accelerating. clumsily, Richter raises his hand to cup his cheek, leans up to press his lips lightly against his forehead. and then Richter drops back onto Bluhen’s lap and closes his eyes-- shuts them tightly, like he’s trying to will his emotions away.

Bluhen observes him, amused. Richter is usually so precise and controlled, watching him fumble with himself is refreshing. he gathers Richter in his arms and Richter falls into him, reluctant, but limp.

“don’t overexert yourself, Richter.”

Richter sighs and Bluhen can feel the frustration coming off him in waves. but Richter says nothing, does nothing, and the energy resumes cycling around him. Bluhen holds him tightly, closely enough to feel every tremor of emotion in his body, every beat of his human-like core. Bluhen closes his eyes too, lets his Blume hang in the air around them.

maybe after Richter’s rested, he’ll return back to normal. back to the normal, emotionless god that Richter always is. and if he doesn’t… well.

well, _then_ they can have some fun.


	129. 142; (piano!au) arme (richter) / erblu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 142; Arme Thaumaturgy (Richter) / Erbluhen Emotion
> 
> (piano!au) there’s a space in his heart and it’s empty.

3.

it’s like the night he remembered.

slow, plodding, the chilly wind tugging at the empty trees, the snowflakes falling like its leaves. the lights of the halls are dimmed in the auditorium, the spotlight shining upon him and the piano once again.

there’s an emptiness beside him, insurmountable. he can almost hear the hum of strings that always used to sing with him, an accompaniment to his tune, a voice to his song. but not this time. because this performance is his own and this song he always played alone.

so he plays, this once, the song that he found scattered in the pieces of his heart. longing, lonely, lost. to find what he used to have, to find what he’s been looking for.

he feels the piano under his fingers, a mournful loneliness rising in each key. the emotion emanates through his fingers, resounds through his heart. each note takes him away, removes him further and further this world until all he knows is the piano and himself.

where is the love he had in his hands? it seems so far away, stolen from him.

-

4.

there’s an ethereal figure sitting on the windowsill. it wears a long white coat, its long white hair like soft strands of ice, feathery white wings pressed up against the glass. cold blue eyes lift when he enters the room, but there are no words.

so he takes his place at the piano. arranges his music sheets, before setting his fingers upon the keys. before he starts, he peers over at the window again.

the figure gazes out the glass, at the snow that falls upon the encrusted rooftops. it glimmers like an illusion, a dream.

a guardian, an angel.

 _were you there when it happened?_ he doesn’t ask. _do you know what I don’t remember?_

and the angel doesn’t answer. but blue eyes shift toward him, catches him staring. the angel blinks, hollow blue eyes unseeing, and his breath is caught in his throat.

_who are you?_

snow brushes bright against the windowpane, falls into the quiet, empty world.

-

1.

when he’s released from the hospital, he returns home to his small apartment. he doesn’t remember how long since he’s been since he’s returned. the calendar says two weeks, his memory says forever.

in the kitchen, he pours tea into his single mug, a light blue one. he doesn’t drink tea. he moves into his bedroom, collapses into his bed. a bed that seems too large, too perfectly made, too neat.

the silence that fills the room seems too loud.

he stumbles to the other room, where his piano sits alone, sprinkled with a light layer of dust. the window is open, white curtains swaying in the breeze. he limps over to the piano and pushes it open.

he trails his fingers over the keys, slowly coaxes it alive. the music sheets lay scattered all around him, filled with scribbles, with notes. he sits himself on the bench and when he plays, he feels the loneliness rise in his soul.

there’s a space in this house, in his heart, and it is empty.

so empty.

when he wakes up, he hears a melody in his mind. but it’s silent and it’s night. the moonlight splashes along the glass of the windows, traces against the finished surface of the black piano, powders the air with glistening dust.

he pushes himself up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. hunger and sleep mingle, but his emotions carve him open.

so he plays the song again. each note, a word within his heart. each sound, a sorrow.

_love me, love me_

_love me_

when he is done, there are tears in his eyes, an image in his mind. but he can’t recognize it. he can’t remember.

upon deaf ears, love falls.

-

2.

he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

but he knows he is. at least, he must be dreaming. dreaming of the hand brushing through his hair, rubbing circles into his back. dreaming of the soft lap he lays in. it’s not warm, just there. as if it always has been there.

he’s dreaming. the piano bench is cold and hard underneath him. but he doesn’t open his eyes, afraid of shattering it all.

“Erblu, wake up. it’s getting dark already.”

dark, in the school’s music room. in his mind’s eye, he can see the sun setting beyond the windows of the building, spilling purples and reds onto the campus green, painting shadows into the tiled floor.

“five more minutes…” he hears himself mumble.

a sigh. chiding. but the hand tickles the back of his neck and soon it tickles too much.

“come on, Erblu, wake up.” a pause. “I’ll make dinner tonight if you do.”

“is that supposed to convince me?” he laughs, a ringing happiness filling the space in his heart. “you know you can’t cook.”

“at least I’ll know I tried.”

he finally decides to sit up. but when he opens his eyes, he’s back in his apartment, alone in the piano room. there’s no one else here with him. just the white curtains billowing in the midnight breeze. the white curtains billowing like a memory.

and a name, on the tip of his tongue.

-

0.

“eh? why do you want to play the violin?”

“you need a partner for the recital.”

“... no, it’s alright. it’s too late to find someone else and I can’t just _teach_ you.”

“that’s never stopped you.”

“this is different! you’ve never touched an instrument before.”

“then teach me, Erblu. and I’ll learn.”

-

5.

a dream rips him open, wide awake. the covers seem too cold, the world seems too dark. he gathers himself in his blankets, shivers in the coldness of the room. 

in his dream, he was dying. he remembers it so clearly. in the muffledness, he hears sirens. in his haze, he watches them blink. he sees himself die, a witness to his own death. his eyes shutting close, his heart slowing to a stop.

as the cars and lights blur, he sees a man tear into the streets. blue hair… light blue hair-- familiar. a voice is shouting his name. in agony, in pain. in an emotion birthed from the depth of his core.

then the wings appear. bright, shimmering, as if it was made of dreams and nothing real. it descends onto his broken dead body, and curls up around him, its feathers lifting into the snowy breeze, a gust picking up into a silent storm.

time stands still.

and then, it moves again.

the image flares awake in a sharp relief. a sickening crush. he’s jolted back into reality, back into his foggy memories. back where everything is white and machines beep, off-rhythm.

“divine intervention,” the whispers said. “he shouldn’t have lived.”

but he did, by some miracle. and now he knows, it’s by this miracle, he did.

he’s in his room again, away from the humming whispers, away the steady beat of the hospital. but he still sees some light, filtering in through the window in the piano room, twinkling like the stars.

he ventures into the room. the angel is there. the angel who’s always there-- the angel from his dream. he hears himself stumble, his socks soft against the floor, and the angel turns to him, those eyes so distant, so far away.

he approaches. he places his hand onto the coat that flows like white curtains, grasps it. it feels solid and the angel moves to cover his hand. the touch is not cold, not warm-- just there.

like it has always been there.

so he falls. he rests himself on the windowsill against the angel. finds those pale white hands, gathers them into his lap. slowly, hesitantly, the angel carves out an embrace, wraps its wings around him to cradle him, and those white wings descend like flower petals.

_teach me and I will learn._

against the windowsill, the snow falls, white harbingers of a bright dawn.

the room is not quite so dark anymore. and the world, no longer quite so lonely.

-

6.

he hears a song when he returns home from the recital. it’s a familiar song, one that’s been playing in his heart for so long. someone is playing his piano.

when he opens the piano room, the angel sits there, his majestic white coat swaying in the gentle breeze. fingers caress the keys, plays his melody. so exact, so meticulously perfect. empty, but for a lone, single emotion.

when he sits down on the piano bench, the angel lifts his eyes up. there is recognition in those blue eyes-- a life.

so he says, a smile on his lips, “I didn’t know angels knew how to play instruments.”

“there is no such thing as music in heaven,” the angel replies. “I learned.”

“huh.” he places a finger on the key, lets the single note twang in the silence. “from who?”

the answer surprises him and it doesn’t. “from you.”

he says nothing. he dances one hand across the keys, plays the simple melody again, and the angel watches him repeat the chords. its emotions echo against the walls and fill his heart. his memories-- their memories-- laid dormant in this melody all along.

“why are you here?” he finally decides to ask.

“to protect you,” the angel answers, “to be whatever you needed me to be.”

“not that. I already know that,” he says, smiling. “this is different. this is something you chose to do. so why are you here, playing this song?”

there’s hesitance in those blue eyes. the angel places his hand on the keys again, wavering, so he reaches over, holds that too pale hand in his. 

then the angel answers, “I felt as if I needed to understand. but still I do not. you wanted something of me, when you played this song. what… what do you want?”

he brushes light blue hair from those uncertain, inhuman eyes, watches as the air around him shine like gleaming snow. he curls their fingers together and wraps his arms around the angel, feels those arms wrap around him in return. he squeezes the angel tightly, before pulling away, sees himself reflected in those caring, careful blue eyes.

“I want you to be yourself, Arme,” he says, he almost pleads. “I want to love you. will you let me?”

a silence. a hesitance. then quietly, “whatever you need. whatever you want-- I will.”

he thinks he’s crying but he tries to smile. “just this one thing, Arme. I just want to love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [When The Love Falls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVeD9b8cgow) by Yiruma.


End file.
